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COURTSHIP AND MATRIMONY 



OTHER SKETCHES 



Suites anb (fepenentes m Soaal f ife. 



PARTICULARLY 



ADAPTED FOR EVERY-DAY READING. 



BY 

ROBEKT.MORKIS. 

/ 



But happy they, the happiest of their kind, 
Whom gentle stars unite, and in one fate 
Thei.r hearts, their fortunes, and their heings blend." 

Thomson. 






Noun 



T. B. PETERSON AND BROTHERS 

306 CHESTNUT STREET. 

- 1 9 - . 






copyright: 

PETERSON - &c BROTHEP-S. 

1879. 



CONTENTS. 



FAOB 

Courtship and Matrimony, 33 

Never Give Up ! An Incident in Keal Life, 60 

Success and Failure. — The "Way of the World, 64 

Self-Possession : Calmness, Composure, and Courage, 68 

A Start in Life : the Choice of a Profession, 72 

The Eomance of Eeal Life. — Portraits from the Crowd,. .. 75 

Temptation ; or, " Pride goeth before a Fall," 82 

Early Training. — Boyhood and Manhood, 86 

Sensibility, - 90 

The Mother and her Sons. An Incident in Real Life,. . . . 93 

A Little too Late ; or, the Error of Procrastination, 99 

Matrimony ; or, A Bachelor in a Dilemma, 103 

Gambling ; or, the Dupes and the Sharpers, 107 

The Rich, and their Opportunities, Ill 

Occupation ; or, the Uses of a Trade or Profession, 114 

Character ; or, Experience and its Teachings, 117 

Envy, Rivalry, and False Pride, 120 

Parents and Children, 124 

Anonymous Letter-Writing — Its Cowardice and Crime,. . . 127 

Life and its Anxieties ; or, Living too Fast, 130 

The Little Jealousies of Life, 135 

(27) 



28 CONTENTS. 

PAQB 

The Cheerful and the Gloomy, 138 

Indiscretion ; or, the Errors of Haste, 141 

The Erring ; or, Crime, its Causes and its Cure, 144 

The Poor Inebriate, 148 

Temptation.— The First False Step, 151 

Married Life. — Mutual Forbearance vs. Incompatibility of 

Temper, 156 

The Peevish and the Passionate. — Our Infirmities, 160 

Mischief-makers and Scandal-mongers, 165 

The Folly of Crime, 169 

Success and Failure. — The Cruel Judgment of the World,. 173 

The Self-Deceived ; or, Portraits from the Crowd, 178 

The Bright Side and the Dark, 182 

The Policy of Minding one's own Business, 186 

The Grumbler, 189 

The Overtasked ; or, the Moral Suicide, 193 

The Charm of Manner; or, Ease, Grace, and Courtesy,... 197 

Spring and Youth. — Their Scenes and Associations, 201 

Suicide. — The Broken Merchant, 205 

The Blessings of Home, 209 

The Time to Ketire.— The Philosophy of Contentment, 212 

The Conduct of Life, 215 

The Moral and the Intellectual.— The Head and the Heart, 219 

The Sombre Hours of Life ; or, a Word to the Dejected!. . 222 

The Harsh arid the Hasty ; or, Error and Separation, 225 

Be not Discouraged. 229 

Good and Evil, 233 

Imaginary Evils and Grievances, 237 

Home Festivals, 242 

The Idler, , 246 

The Spring-time of the Year, 249 



CONTENTS. 29 

PAGB 

The Young Heir ; or, the Perils of Prosperity, 252 

The Invalid. — Sickness and Health, 257 

The Power of Habit ; or, A few "Words of Warning, 261 

The Physician, . 265 

Forethought ; or, Look before you Leap, 269 

Forbearance. — Its Virtue and its Policy, .... 272 

The Criminal and his Cure, 278 

Idlers and Prosers, 281 

Money versus Merit. — Undue Homage to "Wealth, 284 

Enough ; or, the Philosophy of Contentment, 288 

The Passion of Avarice. — A Sketch from Eeal Life, 291 

Ingratitude. — A Yice of Human Nature, 296 

The Indiscreet. — Eash Expressions and Hasty Judgments,. 300 

Physicians and their Responsibilities, 303 

The Prejudiced.— The Fallibility of Human Judgment, 306 

The Temper and the Tongue, 310 

Perils of Falsehood, 314 

The Unsatisfied, 317 

The Rescued from Crime. — Houses of Refuge, 320 

Pretension. — Yanity, Pride, and their Penalty, 324 

The Unforgiving. — Temptation and Mercy, 328 

The Perils of Excitement.— Self-control, 331 

The Sense of Obligation. — Ingratitude, 335 

Early Marriages. — The Hand but not the Heart, 339 

The Living and the Dead. — Life and its Bubbles, 343 

Courtesy. — The Manner and the Heart, 347 

Temper. — The Despots of Domestic Life, 351 

The Philosophy of Kindness, 355 

The Perils of Wit, 360 

Disappointment. — Faith, 365 

The Balances of Life,... 369 



30 CONTENTS. 

PAGB 

Fidelity; or, the False and True, 373 

Tact and Talent, 377 

The Penitent. — Give him another Chance, 380 

The Uses of Adversity, 384 

Style and Dress, 387 

The Close of the Week.— Saturday Night, , 390 

The Habit of Industry. — The Choice of an Occupation,.. . 394 

Forbearance, 398 

Forgery ; or, the Perils of the First False Step, 402 

Eeliability, 41)6 

Moral Suicide ; or, Social Festivals and Late Hours, 409 

Passion and Prejudice, . . 413 

The Happy Medium, 416 

Beginnings of Character, 419 

The Knowledge of Experience,. . . , 423 

Fame and Fortune ; or. Overtasking the Mind, 426 

Home and its Harmonies, 430 

Have you made your Will ? 433 

The Rule of Love and the Rule of Fear, 436 

The Living and the Dead. — Why Postpone the Duties of 

Benevolence ? 440 

The Moral Sense, 443 

The Man of many Promises, 447 

The Heroes and the Martyrs of Real Life, 451 

A Word in Season, 454 

Life and its Excitements ; or, the Philosophy of Retiring,. 457 
The Gentle and the Harsh ; or, the Philosophy of Reproof, 461 

Getting Rich too Fast, 465 

Exaggeration. — Its Perils and its Penalties, 468 

Character. — The Penalty of its Loss, 471 

Peculiarities ; or, All have Infirmities, 474 



CONTENTS. 31 

PAGB 

The Overtasked ; or, Toil and its Victims, 478 

False Impressions ; or, the Little Enmities of Life, 482 

The Battle of Life, 486 

Civility. — The Social and the Business "World, 490 

An Object in Life. — The Policy of Sticking to Something, 494 

Unequal Marriages, 497 

A Little Consideration, 501 

The Beauty of Truth,. 505 



COURTSHIP AND MATRIMONY; 

WITH OTHER SKETCHES 

FROM SCENES AND EXPERIENCES IN EVERY-DAY LIFE. 



fafajiip mfo PaiiTOg, 



' From that day forth, in peace and joyous Miss, 

They lived together long without debate ; 
Nor private jars, nor spite of enemies, 

Could shake the safe assurance of their state." — Spenser. 



COURTSHIP is a great privilege in this free 
country, and one, we fear, which is not adequately 
appreciated. It permits man and woman not only to 
become acquainted with the mere forms and features, 
but with the mental and moral qualifications of each 
other, before entering upon the most important con- 
tract of human society. We regard this as a great privi- 
lege, for it is enjoyed only by an inconsiderable portion 
of the human family. Thus in Turkey, from the time 
that a girl reaches the age of ten, she is taught to shun 
the eye of man. Her marriage is arranged by her 
friends, and with an individual whom she has never 
seen. The blissful period of courtship, and all the de- 
lights of hope and love, are lost to her. Nay, after she 
becomes a wife, she is excluded from the society of all 

(33) 



34: COURTSHIP AND MATRIMONY. 

her male relations, with the exception of father, uncles, 
and brothers, who are permitted to pay a short visit 
of ceremony, and only on festal days. 

In some parts of Arabia we are told that parents 
are accustomed to promise their children in marriage 
when but a few years, or even a few months old. The 
father of the male child buys the girl. He bargains 
about the price, and pays down part of it immediately 
by way of earnest. Thus the wives are all bought — 
neither party most deeply interested having any say 
in the matter at the time of entering into the contract. 

Our Indians have a much more rational system. Mr. 
Murray tells us that among the Pawnees, when the 
lover wishes to break the ice, he visits the tent of the 
father of the one beloved, without any invitation. He 
sits on the corner of a mat for some time, and retires 
without speaking. A few days after, he pays a second 
visit — wears his buffalo robe gracefully about him, 
with the wrong side out, and again sits silently in the 
corner of the tent. If the father determine to reject 
him, nothing is placed for him to sit on, and no meat 
is offered him ; but if he approve of the match, the 
rights of hospitality are observed. Feasts are then 
given by the respective parties, in order to obtain the 
consent of their relatives. If these terminate favorably, 
the young man presents himself once more before the 
bride at the door of the tent, and then turns and walks 
slowly off toward his. She rises and follows him, and 
the marriage is then complete. All this is done with- 
out a word passing between the bride and her husband 
that is to be. 

This is somewhat of an improvement on the Turkish 
and Arabian system ; but bow miserably defective as 



COURTSHIP AND MATRIMONY, 35 

compared with that practiced among the more refined 
and civilized nations of the earth — and especially in 
our own country! Here the period of courtship is 
recognized, and justly, as the most blissful of human 
existence — the brightest, greenest, sunniest spot on 
the wayside of life. Generally speaking, it extends 
over a space of from one to five years — a time, too, 
when the mind and the heart are alike peculiarly sus- 
ceptible to all that is exquisite in sentiment or beauti- 
ful in nature ! When the future is painted by the 
imagination, and we see in the distance nothing but 
brightness and bliss. Before we have been taught the 
sad lessons of experience — before care, and pain, and 
vicissitude have robbed the golden dreams of youth 
of their rich promise and sunny splendor. Before 
life has caught a shadow from the wings of time. 
When, bounding forward with high hopes and pant- 
ing spirits, we pass the silver-headed wayfarers of an 
earlier generation, as the beings of another world — as 
those who have finished the joyous career that we are 
but just beginning. Then it is, that we live in a 
world of our own imagining. Then it is, that the 
heart in the spring-time of existence thrills and dilates 
with many an exquisite emotion — that Death seems 
afar off and robbed of all his terrors. Then, that the 
future rises up as a rich landscape, with green fields, 
pleasant valleys, shadowy retreats, and a golden sunset 
bending above the whole. Some fairy spirit too 
mingles in and gives additional zest to the scene — an 
idol, in whom we see all the elements of peifection — a 
being of the heart — 

" Fair as the first that fell of woman kind, 

When on that dread, yet lovely serpent smiling, 



36 COURTSHIP AND MATRIMONY. 

Whose image then was stamped upon her mind — 

But once beguiled — and evermore beguiling : 
Dazzling as that, ah ! too transcendent vision, 

To sorrow's phantom-peopled slumber given, 
When heart meets heart again in dreams Elysian, 

And paints the lost on earth renewed in Heaven !" 

For a time we have not the possession of all our 
faculties. The manliness of our nature is softened and 
subdued. Our world seems concentrated into one 
slight object; and what in the eyes of others are 
deemed blemishes and imperfections, are regarded by 
the mad lover as of little more importance than spots 
on the sun. In the one fair form we see nothing but 
" perfect symmetry" — 

" Her swan-like gait, 
As she glides by us as a lovely dream, 
Seems not of earth. From her bright eye the soul 
Looks out ; and like the topmost gem o' the heap 
Shows the mine's wealth within. Upon her face, 
As on a lovely landscape, shade and sunlight 
Play as strong feeling sways ; now her eye flashes 
A beam of rapture— now lets drop a tear ; 
And now upon her brow — as when the rainbow 
Rears its fair arch in heaven — Peace sits and gilds 
The sweet drops as they fall." 

Such are the portraits of the hours of courtship* 
such the fair shapes that lend enchantment to those 
hours. 

Then it is that the heart is touched with the dream 
of love — triumphant love, which 

" Like Aurora trembles into being, 
And with faint, flickering and uncertain beams 
Gives notice of the awakening world within us, 
Of the full blazing orb that soon shall rise 
And kindle all its passions. Then begin, 
Sorrow and j oy— unutterable joy 
And rapturous sorrow. Then the world is nothing- 
Pleasure is nothing—suffering is nothing ; 
Ambition, riches, praise, power, all are nothing ; 
Love lives and reigns, despotic and alone. 



COURTSHIP AND MATRIMONY. 37 

With such views, and such feelings, and such a 
companion, how can the period of courtship be other 
than highly blissful? Even if deceived, the delusion 
is delicious while it lasts ; and if we are able to keep 
it up throughout the whole journey of life, so mucn 
the better. There is no happier man than the in- 
dividual who has boundless confidence in his wife — 
who looks upon her as the model of womankind, fault- 
less as well in person as in mind — 

" One made up 
Of loveliness alone." 

What matters it to him that the world does not con- 
cur in his estimate, or that his neighbor holds a dif- 
ferent view? He did not consult the world at large in 
seeking a choice — nor did he hold the view of his 
neighbor important — 

"What care I how fair she be, 
If she be not fair to me." 

The correct policy — nay, the duty of the married, is 
to realize as far as possible, in the subsequent period 
of existence, the expectations held out by the trial 
time of courtship. To preserve in after life the same 
bright picture that won our early idolatry. To keep 
the flame kindled in youth, constantly fed by gentle- 
ness of affection, kindliness of manner and depth of 
regard, and thus to cherish a holy light that will 
cheer and gladden hearth and home till the latest 
period of existence. 

To win a man's affections is, comparatively speak- 
ing, an easy matter — to retain them is the great art, 
the true secret of domestic felicity. The wife then 
2 



38 COURTSHIP AND MATRIMONY. 

should at least endeavor to render herself quite as 
attractive as the maid — and thus to show that she at 
once understands the obligations assumed at the altar ; 
appreciates the confidence, and is really anxious to 
preserve the affections of her husband. But the 
moment the matrimonial knot is tied, let her tear 
away the mask — let her become inattentive to the 
little delicacies of dress and refinements of manner — 
the many nameless attractions that speak, as it 
were, from the depths of the soul. Let her exhibit 
apathy and indifference, and the veil will soon fall 
from the features of both — and the one stand forth a 
heartless hypocrite; the other a betrayed and dissi- 
pated wretch. This is no idle picture— no false theory. 
It will apply as well to the husband as the wife : nay, 
with far more force to the former, who must seek to 
betray — by assuming a mask deep and subtle, and, 
from his relative position in society, far more culpable 
than that which sometimes conceals the guile of the 
gentler portion of creation. Courtship, then, is not 
only, when animated by purity of motive and sincerity 
of affection, a blissful but a deeply important period. 
" How often," as has been eloquently observed of a 
new acquaintance, "does it change in every respect 
the current of our days on earth — aye, and affect eternity 
itself!" It may be said to form the period of time at 
which two streams meet. There the waters of both 
are insensibly blended : the clear and the turbid, the 
rough and the smooth, the rapid and the slow. Each 
not only modifies the manner, and directs the progress 
of the other with which it mingles, but the stream, if 
fully united in an after period, is influenced by mutual 
hopes and fears, and joys and sorrows. The charac- 



COURTSHIP AND MATRIMONY. 39 

teristics, the trials, the successes and reverses of life 
which were before individual and distinct, are now 
shared alike and in common. Courtship, then, is a 
period full of responsibility; for it may be said to 
color and influence all the after period of earthly ex- 
istence. It is to marriage, what the bud is to the 
flower — the very soul and centre from which all life, 
sweetness, and beauty are diffused. It constitutes the 
halcyon period of mortal existence — 



"When earth is tinted 

With hues more brilliant than the Iris' dyes — 
When life itself is a fairy legend, printed, 

In golden characters for loving eyes — 
When poetry is felt the purest, sweetest — 

Unwritten poetry of stars, birds, flowers — 
When happy moments wing themselves the fleetest, 

And light as gossamer float rosy hours — 
When as pure spirits on the earth we wandei*, 

And feel it not a cold, delusive sphere, 
But bright and beautiful on which Ave ponder, 

Deeming no Paradise can be more dear, 
When to the enchanted soul love's bliss is g-'ven — 
A dream — a vision of its after heaven." 



But there is a time for all things, and Courtship, 
however delightful, should have a proper termination. 

Marriage is justly regarded by all true philosophers 
as one of the best and purest of institutions — an insti- 
tution that has the approbation of Divinity itself. u Be 
fruitful and multiply," is the precept of the Almighty. 
The Hebrews married very early, for a single life was 
considered .disgraceful in Israel. The engagements 
of those early days lasted from six to twelve months. 
The men were frequently not more than eighteen — ■ 
the females not more than fourteen years of age. Some 
days after the wedding, the bride was conducted to 
the home of her husband, and was not called a wife 



40 COURTSHIP AND MATRIMONY. 

until that time. This was done with much ceremony 
and the singing of a prayer like this: — " Glory to 
Thee, Lord our God, King of the world, who hast 
created all things for thy glory. "We praise Thee, 
Lord, that hast created man in thy image and resem- 
blance, and hast prepared him a mate of the same 
nature forever. Glory to Thee, O Lord, that rejoicest 
Zion in the multitude of her children. Bless this 
couple with joy, as thou hast blessed the first man and 
woman in the paradise of Eden. Praised be thy 
name, Lord, our God, that spreadeth pleasure over 
the husband and his wife ; and that hast created for 
them joy, songs, love, friendship, peace, connubial 
tenderness, &c. &c." 

Marriage was practiced by the earliest sovereigns 
of the nations ; by Menes, the first king of Egypt ; 
Eohi, the first sovereign of China, and Cecrops, the 
first legislator of the Greeks. The earliest laws en- 
couraged matrimony. Thus by the Jewish law, a 
married man was for the first year exempted from 
going to war, and excused from the burden of any 
public office. Among the Peruvians he was free for 
a year from the payment of all taxes. Offences against 
the marriage rites were punished by the ancient nations 
with the greatest severity ; and it has been well ob- 
served by an eminent historian, that in reality no 
single offence is equally pernicious to society. 

A singular practice prevailed among the early Assy- 
rians. In every village, they collected once in the 
year, all the young women who were marriageable, and 
the public crier, beginning with the most beautiful, put 
them up at auction, one after another. The rich, of 
course, had the first choice under these circumstances • 



COUKTSHIP AND MATRIMONY. 41 

but, as a palliative, the money thus realized was assessed 
as a portion to the less attractive. When their turn 
came, each woman was bestowed on the man who was 
willing to accept her with the smallest portion. But no 
man was allowed to carry off the woman he had pur- 
chased, Unless be gave security that he would take her to 
wife. And, if subsequently it happened that the hus- 
band for any cause put away his wife, he was obliged to 
pay back the money he recieved with her. It was also 
stipulated by the laws of Assyria, that the women should 
be well treated by their husbands : an excellent provision, 
and one that might be emulated with advantage among 
some of the modern nations. The condition of woman, it 
has been well observed; in all ages, has been a criterion 
of the progress of civilization and refinement of manners. 
Holding this proposition to be sound, we allude with 
feelings of laudable pride to the position of our own 
country. Women in the United States are, if not fully 
and adequately, very generally respected. This is con- 
ceded even by one of our most malignant libellers, Cap- 
tain Marryatt. De Toequeville also observes that : 
" Long before an American girl arrives at the age of mar- 
riage, her emancipation from maternal control begins ; 
she has scarcely ceased to be a child, when she already 
thinks for herself, speaks with freedom, and acts on her 
own impulse. The great scene of the world is con- 
stantly open to her view ; far from seeking concealment, 
it is every day disclosed to her more completely, and 
she is taught to survey it with a firm and calm gaze. 
Thus the vices and dangers of society are early revealed 
to her ; as she sees them clearly, she views them with- 
out illusions, and braves them without fear ; for she is 



4:2 COURTSHIP AND MATRIMONY. 

full of reliance on her own strength, and her. reliance 
seems to be shared by all who are about her." 

These admissions, we are willing to regard as atoning 
for a multitude of sins. In the language of a celebrated 
French philosopher, "So long as a nation preserves the 
purity of character and modesty of deportment, which 
constitute the most ennobling attributes of the sex, both 
the morals and the liberties of that nation may be con- 
sidered measurably safe. The congenial soil of liberty 
is amidst a virtuous people ; and no people can long 
continue virtuous, where women in the mass are regard- 
less of modesty of manner, propriety of deportment, or 
the tone of whose conversation is not brightened and 
elevated by the unsullied principles of delicacy and 
virtue." 

But the practice just alluded to was not confined to 
the Assyrians. It is stated that in many of the ancient 
nations the husband was obliged to purchase his wife 
by presents, and by personal services to her father. 
When Abraham sent to demand Eebecca for his son 
Isaac, he charged his messenger with magnificent pres- 
ents. Jacob served seven years for each of the daugh- 
ters of Laban who were given to him in marriage. Ho- 
mer alludes to this custom as existing in Greece. The 
same system was in use among the andfent inhabitants 
of India, Spain, Germany, Thrace, and Gaul— and 
modern travelers state that it prevails at this day in 
China, Turkey, Africa, and also among some of the 
savage tribes of America. 

Another practice also exists among portions of the 
aborigines of the American continent. We allude to 
the marriage by a cjaief of several sisters. This is 
common in Upper California, among the Pawnees and 



COUKTSHIP AND MATRIMONY. 43 

several other tribes. But this is in savage life, in a 
condition of society where chastity is almost unknown, 
and where a wife and a slave are synonymous terms. 
Among the Pawnees, for example, the wife rises an hour 
before daylight, packs up the baggage, strikes the tent, 
saddles the horses and mules, and travels on foot from 
thirty to forty miles a day, carrying on her back either 
a child or a package of considerable size, while the 
husband or tyrant rides. A sad illustration this of the 
practice of polygamy. Its tendency is alike vicious 
everywhere, among the civilized and the savage. Wit- 
ness its operation in Turkey, where it is sustained by 
the Koran. "Women there are in a wretched condition 
as regards liberty, morals, and mind. Marriage in that 
country is exclusively a civil contract, which is attested 
before the Cadi, or magistrate, by friends of the two 
parties, neither of whom need be present. When a 
man of rank, says a modern traveler, (and none but 
such can maintain a number of wives,) marries a wo- 
man who is his equal, a stipulation is made that she 
shall be his only spouse. But if, as is more frequently 
the case, he take a plurality of wives of a rank inferior 
to his own, each is entitled to a separate establishment, 
and all can demand equal privileges till one be elevated 
above the rest by becoming a parent ; and the mother 
of the eldest son is called the chief spouse. The prin- 
cipal object or desire with the Moslem, as with the He- 
brew women, is children ; and those whose wishes are 
realized, regard with contempt their less fortunate rivals, 
while in turn they are eyed with burning jealousy. 
Among the tenants of the Harem who can claim no 
connubial privileges, the mother of a daughter ranks 
above one who is childless ; but the mother of a son is 



44: COUETSHIP AND MATRIMONY. 

immediately raised to the dignity of a wife, unless the 
father have already four, the conjugal limit prescribed 
by the Koran. Such an order of things opens the 
door to ambition, jealousy, hatred, and other evil pas- 
sions, occasionally giving rise to persecutions and even 
to murders. The mind is wholly neglected. 

This is the condition of woman in countries where, 
as among the savages of our own soil, a plurality of 
wives is tolerated. Affection is weakened, confidence 
destroyed; and without these two bonds, there can be 
nothing like unity of purpose, or feeling, or spirit — 
nothing like connubial felicity. It was beautifully ob- 
served by an old poet, that when first one woman was 
joined to one man in the chaste endearments of mutual 
love, and saw their own offspring rising around them — ■ 
then only did the ferocious manners of the human race 
begin to soften. It was only a few months since that 
we heard a distinguished member of Congress from 
Pennsylvania make a remark in a similar spirit. He 
had returned to his family for the purpose of partici- 
pating in the Christmas holidays, and on being asked 
how he felt, he replied : " More like a human being 
during the last twenty-four hours, than for the previous 
fortnight 1" We gazed upon him with a look of in- 
quiry mingled with surprise. 

" I mean what I say," he added, with no little ear- 
nestness. " During the period alluded to, I mingled 
night and day exclusively with men — with excited 
politicians — and I felt every hour a furious and savage 
disposition creeping over me — a disposition common to 
those who shun the softening, ennobling, and refining 
influence of virtuous female society." 

The philosophy of the poet and the representative is 



COURTSHIP AND MATRIMONY. 45 

doubtless correct. Even in the Garden of Eden, that 
first earthly paradise, Adam felt the spirit of loneliness 
stealing upon his soul. The Deity 'saw his heart and 
yielded to the desire of that heart. y He sent a minis- 
tering angel — a sweet companion ! 

" She, as a veil, down to the slender waist 
Her unadorned, golden tresses wore 
Dishevelled, but in wanton ringlets waved, 
As the vine curls her tendrils, which implied 
Subjection, but required with gentle sway ; 
So hand in hand they passed— the loveliest pair 
That ever since in love's embraces met — 
Adam, the goodliest man of men since born 
His sons ; the fairest of her daughters, Eve." 

Among the early Eomans there were three forms of 
marriage. Thus the marriages of the patricians were 
celebrated in the presence of ten witnesses, and amidst 
numerous ceremonies and solemnities, religious arid 
otherwise. The people married, either by buying or 
selling, or with an understanding that, after the parties 
had lived together for a year, they should be con- 
sidered as married. An odious system, and fraught 
with every description of licentiousness and wrong. 
How different — how salutary by contrast the principle 
of modern times — not only in our own country, but in 
that of our ancestors. We know of no instance in 
which the beauty of marriage, as an institution, has 
been more forcibly illustrated than in the case of Queen 
Victoria, who, although the sovereign of one of the 
mightiest empires of the earth — the queen of domin- 
ions that number millions of souls, and of such extent 
that.it has been eloquently observed that the sun's 
rays ever linger on some portion of them, — descend- 
ing from her high position, and consulting only the 
dictates of her woman heart, took for her bosom's 



46 COURTSHIP AND MATRIMONY. 

lord, a comparatively obscure lieutenant of GermaD 
Hussars. 

"We consider the act the noblest in the character of 
Victoria, and entitled to the approbation of every ele- 
vated rnind — of all who can appreciate the purity, the 
depth, and magnanimity of sincere affection — the truth, 
the fervor, the fidelity of woman's love. 

In this single instance the heart of the gentler sex 
is seen in all its sincerity, truth and beauty, and the 
dictates of that heart, as exemplified in the choice of a 
husband, cannot but have a salutary moral influence 
upon the age. 

And why should we not attach importance to the 
character of woman ? Her influence over the destinies 
of men and of nations has been mighty in all ages of 
the world. Without her we had never existed — while 
with her, life has a thousand joys and a thousand rays 
of sunshine that live only in her presence. Her smiles 
and her tears are alike potential. 

Even the iron-hearted Coriolanus was ix>t proof 
against the latter. Banished from Rome, and in arms 
against his sovereign State, he refused all terms of ac- 
commodation, until a band of Roman matrons, at the 
head of which was Veturia, repaired to the camp of the 
traitor and threw themselves at his feet. The severity 
of his nature was not proof against this appeal. Corio- 
lanus — the arrogant and the iron-hearted — laid down 
his arms — ordered his troops to retire, and thus Rome, 
the mighty mistress of the world, owed her safety to 
the tears of a woman. 

But this is only one of many similar instances. His- 
tory informs us that most of the revolutions of the 



COUETSHIP AND MATKIMONY. 47 

Roman state, were measurably, if not altogether, at 
tributable to women. 

The story of Lucretia, who preferred death by her 
own hands to a life of dishonor, is familiar to all, and 
is a case in point. Brutus was a witness of the scene. 
He drew the dagger from her heart, and swore by the 
eternal gods to be the avenger of her death. And well 
he kept the oath. The dead body of Lucretia was 
taken to the Forum, and there the people were aroused 
to vengeance and to liberty. The Senate could not 
resist the popular clamor. Offended virtue cried aloud 
for justice. Tarquin was banished; the regal office 
was abolished ; and thus to the fate of a woman, Rome 
owed the downfall of a tyrant and the establishment 
of a Republic. 

The case of Virginia is another, dear to virtue and 
to liberty. It preceded and led to the overthrow of 
the iniquitous Decemviri, and the restoration of the 
Consular government. 

We may also instance a third case not long after. 
Marcus Fabius Ambustus had given one of his daugh- 
ters in marriage to Lucinius Stocco, a plebeian, and the 
other to Servius Sulpitius, a patrician, and a military 
tribune. One day when the wife of the plebeian was at 
her sister's house, the lictor who walked before Sulpi- 
tius on his return from the Senate, knocked loudly at 
the door to apprise those within of the approach of the 
magistrate. The noise threw the wife of the plebeian 
into a panic ; her sister laughed at her alarm, and uttered 
a malicious jest on the inequality of their situations. 
A very small matter, says Livy, is sufficient to disturb 
the quiet of a woman's mind. The affront was taken 
seriously to heart — it became a subject of grave com- 



48 CGUKTSHIP AND MATRIMONY. 

plaint — ike fatker was consulted and petitioned, and 
tke result was tke admission of tke plebeian order to tke 
Consular dignity. 

But we migkt cite numerous illustrations in tke kis- 
tory of other nations, equally conclusive, kadwe time. 

We repeat tken tkat too muck importance cannot 
be attributed to tke ckaracter of woman, — 

" First at the cross and earliest at the grave." 

In tke hour of adversity her cheering presence is as 
tke bright light of a purer world — wkile prosperity 
and human bliss are but hollow and meaningless coun- 
terfeits, unless ske constitute one of tkeir ckief elements. 
In kow many dear relations does ske stand to us ! 

Tke motker— -sister — daughter — wife! The Eng- 
lish language does not contain four words calculated 
to call forth deeper fountains of emotion, or to kindle 
associations dearer and fonder to tke human heart. 
But as it is of tke last and most endearing relation 
tkat we would speak, we must not pause by tke wayside 
to touch upon tke otkers, altkougk eack is calculated 
to call back deligktful recollections and touck every 
chord of the human soul ! 

A modern writer kas an eloquent passage in one of 
his works, which we will be excused for referring to 
here. It is one of tke most beautiful tkings in tke 
English language, — an apostrophe in tke course of a 
long story, in wkick tke autkor pauses for a moment 
to address kis wife. Thus — 

"Beautiful being, whom now, in no boyish vision, I 
behold, with thy soft eyes, which are as the mirrors of 
human tenderness, and thy pure brow where never cloud 
or shade ruffled the abode of all gentle and womanly 



COURTSHIP AND MATRIMONY. 49 

thought — and thy fairy and fond step, where the vigi- 
lance and the care of love preside and sleep not, hast 
thou filled the fountains of my heart with a mighty 
and deep stream, and shall they not overflow ! Thy 
cheek is paler than it, was, my love, and thy smile has 
a fainter play, and the music of thy sweet voice is more 
low and hushed, and the zephyr that waiteth on thy 
footsteps flags at times with a weaker wing, so that 
when I look on thee, my eyes have tears, but they are 
not the tears of sorrow — for to me there is a brighter 
lustre in thy later years, than when in the glory of our 
earlier spring, the cheek of Hebe would have been dim 
to thine! Has not the bloom of affection a richer 
damask than the bloom of health? In thy looks I 
behold the loveliness of comfort and of hope, and thy 
smile has the beauty of the steps which upon the moun- 
tain-top are the messengers of glad tidings. Thou hast 
trusted thine all unto me, and while the vessel yet 
lives through the stormy tide, thy treasures shall be 
safe! 

"For thee, my latest and my li via g dream — for thee 
what blessing shall I invoke ? In the silence I have 
made a vow ; in the night I have recorded a pledge. 
Come under the shadow of my soul, and while it yet 
lives to the things of earth, it is in my vow and my 
pledge that thy blessing shall be found I" 

These are sentiments worthy a happy union — a 
generous heart and an elevated mind. They breathe the 
spirit of true philosophy — of sincere affection — and at 
once indicate the possession by the author of emotions 
and sympathies beyond and above the vulgar passions 
and attachments of coarse and mercenary life. They 
are in some sense spiritual, and partake more of the 



50 - COURTSHIP AND MATRIMONY. 

ennobling and refining attributes of the soul, than of 
the grosser feelings of our earthly nature. They 
breathe — 

" That love intense which sensual joy survives, 

Founded on duty and the nuptial vow, 
Which with its partner in affection strives, 

Beams in the eye, and gladdens on the brow, 

When pain and agony themselves eDdow ; 
That love intense which, pillow 'd in the skies, 

On a next world of brighter bliss relies. 
That love intense which purer ardors warm, 

On blameless lives and faithful breasts which stands, 
Which greets the sunshine and defies the storm, 

Which Time but strengthens, and wtrich Death withstands,— 
First of the social charities which form 

Parental, filial, and fraternal bands ; 
That love with wedlock's rays alone can shine, 
Its source, its ends, are deathless and divine." 



Marriage, we contend, is desirable and commendable 
in every point of view. No nation can exist long and 
successfully, that does not, in the first place, recognize 
the institution of marriage ; and, in the second, endeavor 
to observe and keep pure the principles of that sacred 
obligation. The founders of Eome, as already shown, 
were compelled to commit a gross outrage upon a 
neighboring people, in order to possess themselves of 
wives. A nation without women was, naturally enough, 
and even in that early time, looked upon as an ab- 
surdity. 

"A world without a sun," 

in the strong language of the poet, is a fit illustration 
of such a condition. Marriage then, in a national point 
of view, is not only commendable but indispensable. 
For "it is not good for man to be alone," in any moral 
or civilized sense ; while woman, dear woman, has been 
not inaptly, although somewhat inelegantly defined, by 



COUKTSHIP AND MATRIMONY. 51 

a southern judge, to be a " marrying creature." Strike 
that sacred and heaven-born institution from the face 
of the earth, and her condition would indeed be deso- 
late and wretched. 

Dr. Franklin was an earnest advocate, not only for 
marriage, but for marriage early in life. True, he had 
a fond and a frugal wife — one who assisted him in his 
business, and cheered him in his hours of gloom. Such 
a wife is indeed a jewel, that brightens with the lapse 
of time. The world may go wrong, clouds may lower 
and misfortunes threaten, but in the rainbow smile of 
that gentle spirit — a light that grows brighter in ad- 
versity — we have a moral power that, like the rod of 
the American philosopher, arrests and disperses the 
lightnings of misfortune. 

We contend that marriage chastens the feelings, ex- 
cites the ambition, and improves the heart. Man, of 
himself and with nothing to live for, is too apt to grow 
reckless of the opinion of the world, and regardless of 
those acts of propriety so essential to the well-being of 
society. But when his fame becomes identified with 
that of another — and when in a family rising up around 
him he sees not only so many multiplied images of 
his own person, but reflections of his own character, 
he must be cold and insensible indeed not to be affected. 
His manners naturally and imperceptibly assume a 
greater degree of dignity, while he finds many a spring 
of affection welling forth in his heart, of whose very 
existence he had before been unconscious. The respon- 
sibilities of the husband and the father are now imposed 
upon him ; and the gentle whisperings of the sharer of 
his fortunes cannot fail to impart some mildness to a 
nature, however hardened, to soften the rough points 
3 



52 COURTSHIP AND MATRIMONY. 

of character, and to instil those lessons of virtue ancl 
propriety which constitute the elements of an unsullied 
reputation. 

The future too has added interest — for in that future 
he sees the figures of his children ; the beings in whom 
he has a new existence, and in whose joys and sorrows 
his nature tells him he will so deeply sympathize. He 
sees their footsteps as they journey on in the pathway 
of life, and struggle against or fall before the trials and 
temptations that beset that path. The ambition is thus 
quickened, and the energies excited in the laudable 
view of obtaining means to render them assistance in 
their hour of need ; or, at least, of affording them an 
honorable starting-place in the fame of their sire, when 
about to enter the arena of a jealous and tempestuous 
world. 

A father's duty too has much effect even upon the 
character of the father. Children are imitative beings. 
This truth becomes speedily obvious to all parents. 
Seeing that the}? are called upon to decide whether 
their example shall be for evil or for good — whether 
they will assist in brightening or darkening the pros- 
pect, as well for time as for eternity, of their own flesh 
and blood — human nature must be depraved indeed 
when this view of the case — and it is a view that will 
soon force itself upon the attention of every intelligent 
parent — will be without a proper effect. The imita- 
tive faculty is perhaps one of the most important of 
the gifts of Heaven. AVell directed, it is capable of the 
noblest efforts of human intellect. It has been well 
and forcibly observed that a boy without powers of 
imitation, is destined to remain all his life a one-sided 
character. " He has no range of sympathies, he has 



COURTSHIP AND MATRIMONY. 53 

been fused only once in life, and been poured into a 
mould, and there tie cools and will never be other than 
you see him. His creed on all matters is already 
formed, and you no more need hope to see him change 
beneath the generous and genial sympathies of opinion 
or of truth, than to find platina melt before an ordi- 
nary parlor fire. The most promising boys are the 
most imitative ; in this lies their capacity for education."' 

This is truth strongly expressed. Imitation is a 
noble faculty, and is to children what genius is to the 
poet. It is a creative or reproductive power — the da- 
guerreotype of the budding mind. How important 
then that it should be well directed ; that principle, 
truth, and virtue, should animate its models ; that the 
parent should act for the child, and under a conscious- 
ness that his thoughts, words, and actions were, in the 
little circle around him, undergoing the process of 
transfer — being caught up by the eye and ear, and in- 
corporated, as it were, into multiplied forms. 

This view, doubtless, has its effect. The love of the 
parent is a powerful feeling, and has potent influence 
upon our self-government. We see this daily in our 
intercourse with society. Even the drunkard, dead- 
ened and lost as he so frequently is, will hasten from the 
presence of his children when about to yield to the 
embraces of the destroyer. This is especially the case 
in the incipient stages of the infatuation, and before 
the sense of shame is deadened. So with almost every 
other vice. 

Marriage, therefore, is calculated to improve, m all, 
the relations of life ; while, but for the possession of a 
wife and family — links between the world of sympathy 
and of virtue and the world of intemperance and guilt, 



54 COURTSHIP AND MATRIMONY. 

voices that constantly invite the erring spirit "back to 
the ways of well doing, — how many of the repentant 
and reformed would have plunged headlong into the 
abyss of darkness and despair. Even Byron, the profli- 
gate and inconstant Byron, whose whole life was em- 
bittered by his separation from his wife, and whose 
premature death, produced by a restless and unsatisfied 
spirit, was probably hastened by the same cause, makes 
constancy the redeeming virtue of his favorite hero, 
and in a poem unequaled for beauty of versification 
and depth of genius. 

Thus, when speaking of the Corsair, and his love 
for Medora, he says: — 

" He died, and left bis name to after times 
Linked with one virtue and a thousand crimes." 

And yet the writer of the sentiment just quoted was 
doomed to that severest of human trials, an unhappy 
marriage — possibly, nay probably, rendered so by his 
own disposition and vices. Miserable indeed is the 
condition of two beings united together in discord. 
Life thus drags heavily on from day to day, while the 
parties live together in the constant practice of hypoc- 
risy or in perpetual strife. The heart does not light 
up the smile that plays upon the lips ; the soul does not 
participate in the feelings that the tongue is compelled 
to counterfeit. If we continue the deception for any 
considerable period after the utterance of the false 
vow at the altar, we live in daily violation of the laws 
of God, while the adder of conscience continues to eat 
deeply into our peace of mind. The home that should 
at once form the source and centre of all true enjoy- 
ment, becomes hateful, and constantly reminds us of 
our baseness. Or, if we at once throw off the mask, 



COURTSHIP AND MATRIMONY. 85 

what a shadowy path will appear in the distance ! Not 
content with possessing ourselves, under false pretences, 
of the fortune of another, we consummate the treacher- 
ous work, acknowledge the baseness of the motive, 
and thus mingle poison in the cup of the betrayed 
one's happiness. We thus add to the villainy and ag- 
gravate the original offence. We thus embitter a life 
that has ventured its all for us — and destroy an illu- 
sion, dearer perhaps than life itself. We thus entail 
a living death upon one whose only error was a too 
blind ' confidence, a too easy credulity, or a too sus- 
ceptible heart. How bitter the fate of such a fatally 
deceived and cruelly betrayed one ! Aggravated too, 
as is often the case, by an eagle-eyed jealousy. Count- 
ing over the hours of the long winter nights, lonely 
and deserted, a heart breaking with disappointment 
and despair ; a mind racked and tortured with a thou- 
sand barbed suspicions, and haunted with as many 
terrible thoughts and suggestions. Heaven avert such 
a fate from any of the fair beings within the circle of 
our readers ! And for the fiend who would thus sport 
with the affections of a woman — a fond and con- 
fiding creature of the gentler sex — and then tearing 
the mask from his features, disclose to her the monster 
upon whom she had bestowed her hand and lavished 
her heart, if there be a lower deep than the raging and 
burning abyss of his own conscience, such must be his 
merited portion. 

Avoid, we pray you, gentle readers, a discordant, a 
merely ambitious, or a mercenary marriage. Avoid, 
as you would a serpent, the smooth-tongued villain, 
with a fair face, a fine form, and subtle tongue — a hol- 
low smile, and a hand with no heart in it — who prowls 



56 COURTSHIP AND MATRIMONY. 

about seeking to betray. The Italian bravo, who 
creeps through the shades with a poniard beneath his 
cloak, is a noble spirit compared with such a wretch. 
The one dooms his victim to a single blow and a rapid 
death — the other protracts the dreadful process for 
years, and snaps the cords of the heart one by one, and 
each with added anguish. 

But there is a bright contrast to this picture. Matri- 
mony, rightly understood, is an arrangement between 
two individuals of different sexes to dwell together in 
unity, to administer as much as possible to the worldly 
felicity of each other, to reconcile the disposition, to 
adapt the temper, to exercise the mind, to regulate the 
taste, to select the society, to pursue the employment, 
and to act in every situation of life in the manner 
best calculated to strengthen the tie entered into vol- 
untarily, solemnly, and with the motive — for such 
should ever be the motive — of assisting our own as 
well as the happiness of our partner, Ko human 
being should look for unalloyed felicity in any merely 
mortal or earthly position. "Hope not for perfect 
happiness," said Madame de Maintenon to the Princess 
of Savoy, on the eve of her marriage with the Duke of 
Burgundy; "there is no such thing on earth, and 
though there were, it does not consist in the posses- 
sion of riches. Greatness is exposed to afflictions often 
more severe than those of a private station. Be 
neither vexed, nor ashamed, to depend on your hus- 
band. Let him be your dearest friend, your only con- 
fidant. Hope not for constant harmony in the married 
state. The best husbands and wives are those who 
bear occasionally, from each other, sallies of ill-humor 
with patient mildness. Be obliging, without putting 



COURTSHIP AND MATRIMONY. 57 

great value on your favors. Hope not for a full re- 
turn of tenderness. Men are tyrants, who would fye 
free themselves and have us confined. You need not 
I e at the pains to examine whether their rights be 
well founded : it is enough that they are established. 
Pray Grod to keep you from jealousy. The affections 
of a husband are never to be gained by complaints, re- 
proaches, or sullen behavior." 

This is a noble lesson from one of the most distin- 
guished of her sex. 

As a sort of counterpart, we may refer to an anec- 
dote related by Cobbett, the celebrated political writer. 
He states that, although very frequently called from 
home by business, he never in a solitary instance dis- 
appointed his wife as to the hour of his return. If the 
time of return was contingent, he never failed to keep 
her informed from day to day — if the time was fixed, 
his arrival at the specified hour was as sure as his life. 
On one occasion going from London to Botley, with a 
gentleman named Finnerty, the two stopped at Alton 
to dine with a friend, who, delighted with Finnerty's 
conversation, kept them till eleven o'clock, and then 
was about to call for another bottle of wine. Cobbett 
protested, and said he must go home, that his wife 
would be alarmed. 

"'Blood, man," said Finnerty, "you do not mean to 
go home to-night." 

Cobbett said he did, and sent his son to bring out 
his vehicle. The distance was twenty-three miles, and 
on the way the two debated the question whether 
Mrs. Cobbett would be up to receive them. Cobbett 
contended for the affirmative and Finnerty for the 
negative. 



58 COURTSHIP AND MATRIMONY. 

She was up, and had a nice fire for them to & -. 
down before. She had not committed the matter to a 
servant; her children were all in bed — and she was 
in readiness to perform the duty of receiving her hus- 
band and his friend. 

" You did not expect him?" said Finnerty. 

" To be sure I did," said she ; " he never disap- 
pointed me in his life." 

If all young men knew how much value women at- 
tach to this species of fidelity, there would be fewer 
unhappy couples in the world. 

Well regulated marriages, formed upon these prin- 
ciples, seldom result but in an increase of pros- 
perity and happiness. We speak of course in a 
comparative sense, for marriage, while it adds to the 
sources of enjoyment and to the aggregate of human 
felicity, also increases the responsibilities of our con- 
dition, and discloses in most cases new sources of anx- 
iety and care. But it is the condition intended by 
the Creator for man from the foundation of the world 
and must therefore have been designed for good. A 
happy marriage — a union of feeling, of sentiment and 
of tastes, is indeed, if not the only, the chief u bliss 
that survived the fall." " Blessed," says one of the 
sacred writers, " is the man that hath a virtuous wife, 
for the number of his days shall be doubled." 



" Ocean and land the globe divide, 
Summer and winter share the year ; 
Darkness and light -walk side by side, 
And earth and heaven are always near. 

" Though each be good and fair alone, 
And glorious in its time and place ; 
In all, when fitly pair'd, are shown 
More of their Maker's power and grace." 



COURTSHIP AND MATRIMONY. 59 

" A man happily married," says an old author, u is 
like the bee that fixes his hive, augments the world, 
benefits the republic, and by a daily diligence, without 
wronging any, profits all." 

We can conceive of no more heaven-like circle 
than is embraced within the limits of a virtuous and a 
happy family. The father forms the centre of that 
little world, and by precept and example dispenses 
blessings and sunshine around him. His smile (like 
the centre of our Solar system) serves to irradiate the 
whole scene — to throw beauty upon the features of 
the chosen one of his youth, and kindle light upon the 
foreheads of his children. There is nothing beneath 
the skies more ennobling to human nature than such 
a household. No example is more salutary for good. 
Its influence extends beyond that single roof, and has 
its effect upon society at large. There are few among 
us who cannot call up from among friends and neigh- 
bors, examples of the kind referred to. Where Mild- 
ness and Virtue, Kindness and Love, Industry and 
Peace, go hand in hand together ! Where a cheerful 
and contented spirit chases away the gloom of the 
world, and Keligion, with her sweet lessons of philos- 
ophy, chastens and purifies the desires of the heart! 
Where the head of the family is recognized and re- 
spected as such; and the greatest happiness of all 
within that circle is derived from his approving smile. 
Where the low sweet voice of woman is seldom heard 
but in accents of gentleness and love, and the name 
of mother is never uttered, unassociated with some en- 
dearing epithet. 

Such a family — and within its limits may be found 
all the elements of human bliss this side the grave — 



60 NEVER GIVE UP. 

can only be collected together under the influence of 
a happy marriage. A union of hearts as well as of 
hands — a tie consecrated by pure and chaste affection — » 
an engagement formed upon earth but sanctioned and 
ratified by Heaven. On such a union the angels who 
dwell in the bright abodes of the blest ; must downward 
turn their spiritual and starry eyes, and while they 
gaze with looks of interest and love, delight in and 
rejoice over the scene. 



lete §ik f jr! %u lirciktt ia $eal fife. 

" Never give up ! It is wiser and better 

Always to hope than once to despair ; 
Fling off the load of doubt's cankering fetter, 

And break the dark spell of tyrannical care ; 
Never give np ! or the burthen may sink you — 

Providence kindly has mingled the cup, 
And in all trials or troubles bethink you, 

The watchward of life must be, Never give up !" 

THEEE is a manly energy in the doctrine, that we 
should not permit ourselves to be overcome by 
common-place or even extraordinary reverses of for- 
tune. " Never say die I" " Never give up !" are capital 
mottoos with regard to enterprise, business, and the 
things of this life generally. If we give way to de- 
pression of spirits, and at the first reverse abandon 
the chase of fortune as hopeless, we will soon sink 
into despondency, gloom, idleness, and perhaps vice. 
But let us determine that come what may, we will 
etill struggle on ; that while life and health remain, we 



NEVER GIVE UP. 61 

will still make an effort to achieve independence; and 
in a majority of cases, sooner or later, success will come. 

A friend stepped into our office a day or two ago, 
and in the course of conversation related an incident 
well calculated to illustrate the force and propriety of 
energy and perseverance. He had visited Washington 
a few weeks before; and while standing on Penn- 
sylvania Avenue, gazing at some object of interest, 
he was accosted by a stranger, as one he had seen and 
known in years gone by. 

Ah! inquired the other, when and where? After 
some conversation, in the course of which a degree 
of confidence was inspired between the parties, it 
turned out that the stranger had reference to a period 
of twenty years before in Philadelphia — that he was 
then a poor boy about seven years old, and was in the 
habit of visiting the workshop at which the other was 
engaged, for the purpose of collecting chips and 
shavings. The kind manner of the apprentice had 
made a favorable impression upon the heart and mind 
of the then bare-footed urchin ; and although a period 
of nearly a quarter of a century had elapsed, he recog- 
nized the friend of his early days at a glance, and was 
anxious in some way to testify his appreciation of the 
kindness rendered in the hours of his boyhood. 

After some further conversation, he gave a brief out- 
line of his history. Before he was eight years of age, 
his father, who was wretchedly poor, died in the Alms 
House, and the little fellow was compelled to beg cold 
victuals from door to door, in order to prevent the 
family from starving. Still he had correct principles, 
and was anxious to make a respectable figure in the 
world. He accordingly indentured himself to a house- 



62 NEVER GIVE UP. 

carpenter, and while engaged in learning the business, 
he obtained a copy of the Life of Franklin, which he 
studied with great attention, in order, as he said, to 
acquire a knowledge of proper habits of economy, and 
not with any notion of becoming a philosopher. He 
persevered, became master of his trade, worked with 
success as a journeyman, removed to Washington, and 
in 1836 had accumulated enough to build two or three 
houses. A balance was still due on them, however ; 
and the troubles of 1837 coming on, adversity over- 
took him, his property was sold by the sheriff, and he 
was again reduced to poverty. But he remembered his 
boyhood, the destitution of that period of his life, the 
manner in which he had overcome adversity by perse- 
verance, and he determined never to give up I 

His worldly wealth consisted of one bed and a little 
furniture ; and with this niggardly provision for such 
an undertaking, he consulted his better half, (for, like 
a wise man, he had married the moment he felt able 
to take care of a wife,) who was a true and brave- 
hearted woman, and they determined to make an effort 
to obtain one or two boarders. Two young friends 
agreed to assist them in the way proposed, and to 
these was awarded the only bed in the house, while 
the husband and wife purchased a few bundles of 
straw, upon which they slept soundly and happily for 
many a month. Slowly and gradually fortune bright- 
ened again, employment was procured, savings were 
laid by, the journeyman became a master carpenter, 
he obtained one or two contracts from Government ; 
and although not yet thirty years of age, he is in easy 
and independent, if not in affluent circumstances. 

He concluded his brief story by remarking that it 



NEVER GIVE UP. 63 

would afford him infinite pleasure, if the old friend to 
whom he had thus strangely introduced himself after 
an absence of more than twenty years, would, while 
he remained in Washington, make his house his home. 
He said that there were still many recollections of his 
early years, which he cherished with delight; and that 
on a recent visit to Philadelphia, he had wandered 
over the haunts of his childhood, and endeavored to 
learn something of the history of his youthful com- 
panions — most of them, like himself, children of dis- 
tress and poverty. In the majority of cases, the results 
were melancholy. Poor, friendless, and to some ex- 
tent, deserted, but- few had wrestled with and risen 
above the untoward circumstances by which they had 
been surrounded. There were cases, however, in 
which patience, perseverance, and constant appeals to 
and dependence upon Providence, had lifted the 
orphan, the outcast, and the beggar from a lowly con- 
dition of penury and trial, and rendered them good 
citizens, devoted husbands, kind parents, useful and 
valuable members of society. But, he added, the 
doctrine of all who are depressed — of the children of 
toil and misfortune, no matter how dark the present 
may seem, should be — Persevere, persevere — never 
give up! For who, he continued, who may read 
the future, w r ho may foretell the events of a single 
year ? And he was right. In the language of a deep 
thinker, "Duties are ours, but events are God's." 
" Clouds and darkness" may lower to-day, but sunshine 
and prosperity may brighten and beautify to-morrow. 
Let us struggle on then, let us never despair. — 

" Never give up ! there are chances and changes 
Helping the hopeful a hundred to one, 



64: SUCCESS AND FAILURE. 

And, through the chaos, high Wisdom arranges 
Ever success — if you'll only hope on ; 

Never give up ! for the wisest is boldest, 
Knowing that Providence mingles the cup ; 

And of all maxims the best, as the oldest, 
Is the true watchword of— Never give up !" 



%>mm aith Jate.— % \t Mm nf \\i W&A 

" A friend in need," &c. 

" The noisy praise of giddy crowds is changeable as winds." 

"Fortune in men has some small difference made.' 

" Let not one look of fortune cast you down." 

IT is sometimes amusing, as well as instructive, to 
watch the changes in popular opinion and feeling ; to 
note the rapidity with which revolutions in sentiment 
take place. We have had some forcible illustrations 
within a few years in Paris. At one moment Lamar- 
tine was the idol of the hour ; at another Cavaignac ; 
at another Louis Napoleon. Whose turn will come 
next, it is impossible to predict. Within a single 
week, and the popular enthusiasm shifted from the 
weak but ambitious pretender, to the modest but ener- 
getic military chieftain. True, the Parisians are among 
the most impulsive people on earth, and some allow- 
ance should therefore be made for their fickleness, their 
mutability. But mankind everywhere are the same 
to a certain extent. We are creatures of the hour, 
and are moved and moulded by circumstances, by ex- 
citements, and by necessities, which few attempt to 



SUCCESS AND FAILURE bb 

analyze or restrain. Ten years ago, and two yonng 
gentlemen graduated at one of the leading colleges of 
our country, with equal honors ; and started upon the 
voyage of commercial and professional life with equal 
prospects. Their habits were good, their minds were 
good, they were highly educated, and had many friends. 
At the moment, both promised to pursue a career of 
prosperity, if not to obtain positions of eminence. It 
so happened, however, that at the end of ten years, 
one of these young men, who may be designated as 
Howard, had already accumulated a considerable for- 
tune, was a partner in a leading mercantile house, and 
was regarded as on the most favorable road to wealth. 
He had been, happy in the choice of his business, had 
luckily associated with partners of activity, ability, 
and means, had experienced few losses, and had thus 
in a short time, comparatively speaking, won his way 
to an enviable position. He was courted, flattered and 
eulogized. The best circles were opened to his society, 
his talents as a business man were warmly approved, 
his character stood high, and being a favorite of for- 
tune, he was also a favorite with the multitude. The 
companion of his college hours had toiled with like, 
if not with more zeal and fidelity, but in another path. 
He had associated himself in a manufacturing establish- 
ment ; and after having progressed very Well for a year 
or two, was suddenly overwhelmed by one of those 
revulsions, to which most commercial and manufactur- 
ing countries are liable. Thus before he was thirty 
years of age, he lost not only all the property that was 
left to him by his father, but found himself twenty 
thousand behindhand. When they started, be it re- 
membered, both stood equally well with their fellow- 



66 SUCCESS AND FAILUEE. 

citizens. They were equally respected, esteemed, and 
admired. But at the end of ten years, one was a bank- 
rupt, and the other was considered rich, and the way 
to wealth still open before him. 

And did the world make any difference in their 
estimate of the two ? By the world, we mean the gene- 
ral multitude — the thoughtless and the reckless, the 
selfish and the mercenary. We need scarcely answer 
the question. True, there were some — but they were 
few and far between — who, when misfortune came 
upon the house with which Walsingham — a fictitious 
name, of course — was connected, not only manifested 
deep sympathy, but exhibited true and generous Men I- 
ship in various ways. But there were others — alas ! 
how many — who seemed to think that a change of for- 
tune had changed the man ; who now avoided where 
they before courted; who nodded coldly, or became 
suddenly near-sighted ; and thus indicated, in a manner 
not to be misunderstood, that while "Walsingham in 
prosperity was a friend to be coveted and desired, the 
same individual in adversity was a person to be 
shunned and contemned. Success or failure made all 
the difference. And is not this too often the case with 
the world ? Is it not so in the battle-field — in profes- 
sional life — among merchants, brokers, and men of 
business generally ? Is not the question with the many 
— How much is he worth ? — instead of — Is he worthy? 
Are not the meritorious, but poor, too often neglecter* 
and despised? Are not the profligate, if rich, par- 
doned for their sins, and cherished for their gold ? Does 
not a sudden downfall frequently drive away dozens 
of fawners and flatterers, who before professed them- 
selves earnest friends ? And is not this svstem calcu 



SUCCESS AND FAILURE. 67 

lated to make men heartless, to deaden their sensibili- 
ties, to dull their sympathies, and render them in some 
degree inhuman ? Gan we wonder at the passion so 
prevalent for wealth, when we see so many bowing 
before the golden idol ? The old, too, the feeble and 
the tottering. With what tenacity do they hug their 
money-bags! Life to them is unwinding the last 
thread, and yet they act as if years and years were before 
them. Poverty and misery are around them in many 
shapes ; they have the means of relief, but they post- 
pone, from day to day, in a selfish and mercenary 
spirit, until at last Death comes, and finds the good 
work unfinished — nay, not commenced. True, there 
are exceptions, glorious exceptions, but how rare! 
How seldom do we hear that an individual who, with 
an income of thousands, having heard of some case of 
unexpected disaster, immediately proffered aid in a 
generous and disinterested spirit, and thus established 
the bond of humanity between man and man. No! 
the disposition, when one is on the fiigh road to fame 
and to fortune, is to join in the general shout ; and 
when the picture is reversed, when some citizen has 
been stopped midway in a career that seemed one of 
promise, is crushed by a blow and overwhelmed in an 
instant — then, alas ! the multitude discover a thousand 
errors in the past, and qualify their sympathy with 
all sorts of innuendoes. Many who before envied, 
now exult; while those who were loudest in their 
professions of friendship, disappear like flies in a 
tempest. 



j$#|jrasesaim : Calmness, lipit- attb 
Crarage. 



" The brave man is not lie who feels no fear, 
For that were stupid and irrational ; 
But he whose noble soul its fear subdues, 
And bravely dares the danger nature shrinks from." — Joanna Baillie. 

" Unaw'd by power, and unappall'd by fear." — Goldsmith. 



THE importance of self-possession cannot be too ear- 
nestly urged. The quality should be inculcated 
in our children, as essential to the proper guidance and 
government of their thoughts, feelings and actions dur- 
ing life. The cool and collected man possesses great ad- 
vantages over the impatient, the impulsive and excited. 
Let him have his thoughts about him, let him be 
able to see things as they are, to discriminate between 
the true and the false, to distinguish between the ex- 
aggerated and the real — and his advantage will be im- 
mense. How often do men betray, nay, destroy them- 
selves by a rash word, or a thoughtless speech ! How 
frequently do we act first and think thereafter ! A 
few days since, a young gentleman of this city nar- 
rowly escaped with his life, in consequence of the want 
of self-possession. He was about passing one of our 
streets, when he discovered a pair of horses in full 
gallop, evidently goaded on by fright, and a broken 
vehicle which they drew after them, the driver having 
a few minute before been dashed to the earth. He 
would have been perfectly safe had he paused, and 
(68) 



SELF-POSSESSION. 69 

permitted the affrighted animals to dash by him. But 
he lost his self-possession, became confused, and in- 
stead of standing still, rushed across the street, and 
thus threw himself into a position of awful peril. He 
escaped, but it was as by a miracle. 

Yet the impetuosity of some natures, the rash 
hasty, and reckless spirit by which many acts of their 
lives are characterized, are so well known, that the won- 
der is, not that accidents sometimes happen, but that 
casualties of the kind are so rare. Not a day goes by 
that individuals do not risk their lives in springing 
from steamboats as they near the landing. They be- 
come excited and impatient, and rather than pause for 
a few seconds or a few minutes, they take fearful, peril- 
ous, and sometimes suicidal leaps. Little is gained in 
any case by this heedless and reckless policy. Its 
general influence upon life is disastrous. Self-posses- 
sion exibits a beautiful contrast to impetuosity, and is 
certain in the end to prove more available. The sub- 
ject might be illustrated by many forcible anecdotes. 
We some time since read an exciting sketch of an inci- 
dent in France, in which a lady proved herself a true 
wife, a fearless, calm-minded and heroic woman. She 
lived in a retired village, and her husband had gone 
to a neighboring city for the purpose of receiving a 
large sum of money. His absence had been longer 
than he had anticipated, and she at last became not a 
little anxious. The day, too, was one of storm; and 
as the night approached the rain fell in torrents, the 
wind howled around the tenement, limbs of trees were 
dashed against the window panes, and the aspect of 
affairs in the out-door world was cold, raw, and 
frightful. She expressed her anxiety to her house- 
4 



70 SELF-POSSESSION. 

maid ; and while doing so, the embers in the fireplace, 
agitated by the wind, cast a lurid light, and she saw in 
a recess concealed by the curtains, what she at first be- 
lieved to be the heavy shoes of a man ! Not a little 
terrified, she turned again, and her first impression was 
confirmed. For an instant she was unnerved, but only 
for an instant. She repeatedly supposed that she heard 
the sound of a horse's hoofs in the distance, and looked 
out hopefully but in vain. At last, however, her ears 
did not deceive her. The horse and horseman ap- 
proached, the door was thrown open, and she sprang 
to the embrace of her husband ! In the act she con- 
trived to direct his attention to the recess. He saw, 
and the truth flashed upon him in an instant. In re- 
ply to a question, he said that he had been successful 
in his mission, that the money was in his saddle-bags, 
and he would immediately obtain and return with it 
to the house. He disappeared for a few minutes ; but 
during that brief period loaded his pistols, and thus 
armed, he confronted, seized and captured the robber! 
It subsequently transpired that the maid was a confeder- 
ate. And the villain confessed that if he had thought 
for a moment that he had been detected, he would 
have murdered the faithful wife, plundered the house, and 
effected his escape ! 

On the battle-field, self-possession is one of the most 
essential of qualities. Many illustrations are given in 
the career of Napoleon. On one occasion his aids 
were at a distance, and it was important that a dis- 
patch should be prepared. A man was called from 
the ranks who could write. Junot immediately 
stepped forward, and with a drumhead as a desk, 
wrote as the great chieftain desired. While thus en • 



SELF-POSSESSION. 71 

gaged, a cannon ball fell so near them, that the dust 
of the earth was dashed in their faces. Junot coolly 
remarked : " It is in good time — we were just in want of 
sandr The expression, under the circumstances, was 
a key to the character of the man. From that mo- 
ment he rose gradually, step by step, until he became 
the Duke of Abrantes! 

On the ocean, too, where the incidents are frequently 
of a nature at once momentous and thrilling, self- 
possession is all-essential. Many years ago, the cap- 
tain of an English frigate was overtaken by a terrific 
storm as he approached the Irish coast. The danger 
became imminent — so much so, that the helmsman, 
overwhelmed with apprehension, lost his presence of 
mind. At this, nearly all on board became terrified, 
and despair was pictured upon every countenance. 
The captain, however, was every way suited to the 
crisis. He was himself a superior navigator, was 
calm, cool and collected, and saw that his only chance 
was in firmness, decision, and self-possession. He 
seized the helm, reassured his dispirited crew, and 
coolly and cautiously steered the ship over a reef of 
concealed and dangerous rocks ! The peril was fear- 
ful, for the keel of the vessel actually grazed as she 
passed. The hour was indeed one of awful anxiety, 
and the slightest manifestation of fear or irresolution 
would doubtless have been fatal to the vessel and all 
on board. But the cool, the daring, the self-possessed, 
were combined in the master, " monarch of her peopled 
deck." The difficulty was surmounted — and the dan- 
ger passed. And thus it is in the multitude of cases. 
The calm, the firm, the right and the self-possessed are 
the true heroes of our race ! 



% Start in fife: Sljc €\mt of a profession. 



' Ho ! ye upon whose fevered cheeks 

The hectic glow is bright, 
Whose mental toil wears out the day 

And half the weary night, 
Who labor for the souls of men, 

Champions of truth and right — 
Although ye feel your toil is hard, 

Even with this glorious view, 
Remember it is harder still 

To have no work to do." 



AN EMINENT writer remarks that "men who are 
laborious succeed in life, if to their industry they 
couple wisdom." In other words, " success in our un- 
dertakings is the effect, not only of toil, but of proper 
choice of one's work. la making the great task of 
life, we should never attempt any thing that we deem 
impossible or impracticable to be attained." These 
are valuable hints, and especially to young men 
who are about starting in life, or who are on the eve 
of choosing a profession or business. Thousands fail, 
because they adopt callings for which they are un- 
suited. Every year hundreds of young men select 
the medical as a profession for which they are par- 
ticularly calculated. The ambition to become useful 
or distinguished in a calling of such responsibility is 
most laudable ; and a medical education can never be 
acquired without some advantage. But the chances 
are, that not -more than five in fifty who practice 
medicine or surgery are really qualified — qualified by 
(72) 



A START IN LIFE. 73 

strength of judgment, acquaintance with human 
nature, boldness of hand in the performance of diffi- 
cult operations, evenness of temper, and knowledge of 
the human frame and its liability to disease. And it 
is thus with other callings. The mistake is made at 
the outset, and more frequently by parents than chil- 
dren. We are all apt to fancy our own peculiarly 
endowed, remarkably intelligent, and thus fitted to 
shine in and adorn any position in life. We are, 
moreover, naturally vain and ambitious. Each de- 
sires to see his respective family elevated. This is a 
laudable desire, but it should not be indulged at the 
expense of the permanent happiness and prosperity of 
oar children. We should give them every advantage 
of education and improvement within our means. But 
then, we should endeavor to select for them a business 
! or profession, in which they may seem suited by habit 
and mind to prosper. We should not yield to false 
notions of pride, and thus sacrifice the hopes of beings 
every way dear to us. We should not make the mis- 
take of supposing that a man may not attain eminence 
and position just as rapidly through the agency of 
some mechanical pursuit or mercantile calling, as by 
means of either of the more polished professions. 
Franklin, the great philosopher, was a printer. 

We should remember that our son may be especially 
suited to flourish as a merchant, an active trading and 
business man. and yet be wholly disqualified to shine 
as a clergyman, a physician, or a lawyer. How fear- 
ful are the errors upon this point ? How many sacri 
fices are made ? How parents mistake not only the 
capacity of their children, but mislead them, induce 
them to attempt enterprises for which they are not 



74 A START IN LIFE. 

competent, and thus compel them to a path which is 
sure to lead to disappointment, and perhaps to ruin 
and despair. Such conduct is not only short-sighted, 
but it is cruel, nay, wicked. There is no more re- 
sponsible task — no more sacred obligation than that 
confided to us in the care of our offspring. Nature 
and duty urge us to do all that may be fairly done, 
to promote their temporal and eternal welfare. We 
should teach them, in the first place, that the lot of man 
is to toil, and thus we should inculcate habits of in- 
dustry. We should strengthen their moral nature 
and develop their mental — and then exercise a calm 
and disinterested judgment with reference to their 
choice of a means of livelihood. Vanity should not 
blind, pride should not mislead us. The greenness and 
freshness of youth should not be wasted upon some 
idle phantom, some absurd delusion, some scheme or 
plan involved in doubt and uncertainty. 

When an individual is about to obtain, for ornament 
or for use, some costly work of Art, he is sure to look 
around, and select from the multitude of pretenders and 
professors the one best qualified to give satisfaction — 
the one who by experience, by genius, by tact or by per- 
severance, has shown himself capable. And thus again, 
when a sensible parent is about to carve out for his 
child a path calculated to lead to position and pros- 
perity, he should be careful to analyze that child's 
ability, disposition, taste and turn of mind, and thus, as 
tar as possible, to adapt the calling to the youth, the 
task to the capacity. For otherwise, he might as readily 
anticipate success, as to look for a perfect statue from 
the hands of an ordinary marble mason, or a glowing 
landscape from those of an inferior sign painter. Ws 



THE ROMANCE OF REAL LIFE. 75 

are aware of the difficulties in such cases, of the falli- 
bility of human judgment, of the mistakes to which 
the best and the wisest are liable. But, to turn again to 
the author from whose admirable essay we have given 
a quotation at the commencement of this article, " the 
chances of failure will be few, if, after having made 
what we deem a proper choice in life, we bend all our 
forces to the task, and avail ourselves of all the means 
that are requisite." 



&jt gflirana of $eal f ife ~-|Mrats farm % 



" A wretched soul, bruis'd with adversity, 
We bid be quiet when we hear it cry ; 
But were we burtheu'd with like weight of pain 
As much or more we should ourselves complain." — Shakspeare. 

" How chang'd since last her speaking eye 
Glanc'd gladness round the glitt'ring room ; 
Where high-born men were proud to wait, 
Where beauty watch'd to imitate." — Byron. 

THE lights and shadows of real life are often in 
painful contrast. The extremes in a crowded 
metropolis are indeed widely apart. Wealth, and 
pomp, and power, and pride, may be seen basking in 
the sunshine of prosperity in one section of the city, 
while in another, poverty and want, and weakness and 
wretchedness may be found dragging on a weary ex- 
istence, and almost hesitating between life and death. 
The cases, too, are not rare, in which these contrasts 



76 THE ROMANCE OF REAL LIFE. 

are still more startling, in which the indigent of early 
youth will be recognized among the affluent of the 
present time, and the rich man of a former day be dis- 
covered in the very depths of penury, and some- 
times of crime. But in no case should we wholly 
despair. There is an avenue to every heart. There 
are seasons when the most hardened may be softened. 
Somewhat more than a year ago, a gentleman of 
Philadelphia was invited by a friend in New York to 
visit the notorious " Five Points," under the guidance 
of a police-officer: the object being two-fold — the 
gratification of curiosity, and the inculcation of a moral 
lesson. The invitation was accepted ; and the party, 
soon after nightfall, proceeded to penetrate into some 
of the deplorable mysteries of the commercial metrop- 
olis of the New World. It is unnecessary for us to 
enter into all the details. They would form only a 
twice-told tale, and prove any thing but agreeable. 
Our friend, however, as he passed through one of the 
most wretched portions of the Points, had his atten- 
tion arrested by a face that he thought he recognized. 
He paused — old, familiar memories came back to him, 
and he mentioned the name of a school-mate, an early 
friend of his boyish years ! The bloated and disfigured 
being was roused by the utterance of his name by a 
stranger, and especially as the tone was of regret, not 
unmingled with regard. His story may soon be told. 
He was a gay youth, fond of the delights of convivial 
companionship ; and even before he attained the years 
of manhood he was a drunkard. Many expedients 
were resorted to, to reclaim him, but without success. 
At last he became a gambler, then a forger — and then 
a convict ! His poor old father, who had exhausted 



THE ROMANCE OF REAL LIFE. 77 

all his means to rescue him, descended broken-hearted 
to the grave. The erring was still a young man, com- 
paratively speaking, only thirty-five years of age, pos- 
sessed fine talents, and was highly educated. But, 
intemperance had become a disease with him. He had 
attempted more than once to wrestle with and conquer 
the Kum Fiend, but in vain. He admitted his error, 
deplored it, spoke feelingly of the past, and asked if 
his mother still lived. His friend besought him to make 
yet another effort. He hesitated at first, said that it 
was idle, that he had lost all self-respect, self-command, 
and self-reliance, and felt that he would soon sink into 
a dishonored grave. But his friend urged, persuaded, 
and at last prevailed. He took him to a mercantile 
house in New York, where he stated the facts confi- 
dentially, and obtained for him a situation. The selec- 
tion was most fortunate. The firm consisted of two 
brothers, true Christians and philanthropists, and they 
entered heartily into the benevolent enterprise. Their 
policy was one of kindness — confidence — generosity. They 
appealed to the heart — touched the feelings ; and rather 
by acts than words. They uttered no reproaches — no 
threats — made no harsh allusions, but addressed them- 
selves to the better nature within — the loftier and holier 
qualities that had been embittered, concealed, and hid- 
den so long. And they were successful. The heart 
was touched and subdued. The fires of virtue were 
rekindled — the lamp of mind was replenished — the 
moral vigor of character was resuscitated. Nearly 
a year has gone by, and the reclaimed continues to 
pursue the way of well-doing — to gather strength and 
courage and determination with every hour of his ex- 
istence, He is a new man — a soul redeemed — and an 



78 THE ROMANCE OF REAL LIFE. 

honor to the true spirits who rendered him " aid and 
comfort" in his extremity — who nerved and assisted 
the rightful impulses of his better nature. 

On another occasion, a gentleman from Baltimore 
visited the same fearful region of the "Five Points/' 
and there recognized, among the fallen and degraded, 
one who five years before had been regarded as a 
beauty and a belle of the Monumental city. She was won 
from her father's house by a villain, who soon deserted 
her ; and then mocked at and denounced by her rela- 
tives, her fall was awfully rapid. She was, indeed, an 
outcast, and abandoned creature ; and all attempts to 
reclaim her were jeered at, and in a tone and with lan- 
guage that startled and appalled. And yet one so 
utterly lost might have been saved, at first, by kindness 
and sympathy ; might have been won back to the paths 
of well-doing, had not a father's false pride and bitter 
imprecations thrilled in her ears, and maddened her 
heart and brain. And such are the vicissitudes — such 
the sad realities of life. 

" It is my full and firm belief," says an eminent au- 
thor, " that if, on any given day of any given year, 
you were, dear reader, to take the accurate history of 
any five square miles — not exactly a desert — upon the 
solid surface of the earth, and examine with a micro- 
scope the acts and deeds, the circumstances, the acci- 
dents, and the fate of the people upon it, you would 
find strange romances enough going on to stock a 
library. Look into a cottage, what will you find? 
Perhaps a romance of love and tenderness struggling 
with sorrows, difficulties, and penury — perhaps a broad 
farce of a quarrelsome wife, and a drunken husband — 
perhaps a tragedy of sin, crime, and misery. Look 



THE EOMANCE OF KEAL LIFE. 79 

into that stately mansion, the house of a great mer- 
chant, what is there? It may be the comedy of 
purse-proud affectation; it may be the tale of the 
tenderest affections and highest qualities; or it may 
show that agonizing struggle which the falling man 
makes to sustain himself, upon the edge of the preci- 
pice, at the foot of which he is soon to lie, dashed to 
pieces." 

The romance of real life is full of touching interest 
— of solemn warning. Only yesterday we were called 
upon by a Son of Temperance — now a plain, honest, 
and hard-working mechanic, who for years was an 
utter sot, to the annoyance and pain of his family, and 
the disgrace of human nature. He told us his story, 
sketched some of the awful scenes through which he 
had passed, admitted that he had been, for the greater 
part of his life, one of the most degraded of human 
beings, and finally thanked Heaven that he had at last 
been able to wrestle with and overcome the tempter, 
and could point to his own case, by way of illustrat- 
ing the doctrine, that while there is life there is hope. 

The beggars of our streets all have a history. The 
tenants of our almshouses, the inmates of our jails, 
have many of them " seen better days," and been top- 
pled from positions of character and independence by 
temptations, and trials, and circumstances, well calcu- 
lated to excite commiseration. A day or two ago we 
read a poem from, the pen of a prisoner in the Eastern 
State Penitentiary, admirably calculated to show that, 
even within the stony walls of that gloomy abode, 
there are hearts among the convicts not wholly insen- 
sible. The lines were addressed to " A Bird on the 
Lattice ;" and among them were these : 



80 THE ROMANCE OF REAL LIFE. 

" Could'st thou impart thy wing to me, 
Far from this dismal gloom I'd flee, 
And to the woods along with thee, 

Sweet bird, I'd go ; 
And there my notes, as joyously, 

Each morn should flow. 

" No ! should I to the woods repair, 
Not even there thy peace I'd share — 
Till angels from my breast should tear 

This wretched heart ; 
And one like thine, as spotless, fair, 
To me impart." 

A New York journalist thus sketches one of the 
curiosities of Broadway : — 

" Among the crowd of jaunty and hirsute men, and 
graceful and elegant women that throng along this 
great highway, is seen almost every day a lean and 
haggard beggar woman, who might serve a painter-for 
an impersonation of Famine. A tall, gaunt, bony 
form, enveloped in a dirty drapery of rags ; sallow and 
angular features, out of which glimmer two dark and 
imploring eyes; long, straight black hair.; thin, bony, 
and attenuated palms, which are stretched out im- 
ploringly to every passer, complete a picture of misery 
which must attract the attention of all who have eyes 
for what is remarkable or peculiar. Eembrandt 
would have put such an object upon canvass with a 
verisimilitude that would have made it a subject of uni- 
versal admiration; and yet the reality itself, pic- 
turesque and suggestive as it is, attracts but a passing 
and unconscious glance from the many who encounter 
it in their daily walks. 

" One would think that the wretchedness and de- 
gradation stamped upon every lineament of thia 
woman, .were a sufficient capital for her beggarly occu- 
pation. She seems to think so; for we have never 



THE ROMANCE OF REAL LIFE. 81 

heard her speak a word. She supplicates only with 
her eyes ; and we confess that we never can look upon 
her without an uneasy sensation, and an irresistible 
propensity to fumble in our not over well lined pock- 
ets. We know nothing of her history ; but there is 
that in her face which we think would reward an 
inquiry. Like a fragment of ancient sculpture, or 
the ruins of some antique structure, it suggests a 
faded and forgotten beauty and usefulness. This, how- 
ever, may be imagination ; or it may be that this ear- 
nestness of face is the product of a long life- struggle 
with the temptations and difficulties of poverty and vice. 
Sorrows, such as the poor and outcast suffer, deepen 
the expression of countenance as much as long habits 
of thought ; as no one who has much intercourse with 
what are called " the lower orders" can fail to observe. 
The poor, in the various shifts they are put to, find 
exercise for their wits ; and those who have most need 
of sympathy are often the most keenly alive to the 
kindliest impressions. 

And what may have been the history of this poor 
beggar? How was her girlhood passed? Who were 
the protectors of her childhood, and of her early 
youth ? What were the temptations and trials by 
which she was surrounded? How were her mind and 
heart cultivated? Wherefore is it that she is thus 
miserable? Is she friendless, is she childless? — and if 
a mother, what has become of her offspring ? Who 
may detail her history — who imagine her sufferings ! 
" Human life is a strange thing, consider it in what 
way we will." The future — who shall read the future, 
even of this world ? 

Yonder passes the heir to a large fortune — a young 



82 TEMPTATION. 

man of twenty -five ! A fortnight since, and he was a 
dependent upon a rich and rigid father. That father 
now sleeps his last long sleep, and the son is master 
of nearly half a million. But will it prove a blessing 
or a curse? Will it protract or shorten his life? 
Will it dignify or degrade his character ? Who may 
draw aside the ve 1 ! and look into the mysteries of the 
coming time ? 



" Could'st thou boast, oh ! child of weakness, 
O'er the sons of toil and strife, 
Were their strong temptations planted, 
In thy path of life?" 

THE case of the three London bankers, who in 
1857 were convicted of misappropriating certain 
funds confided to their care, is well calculated to 
admonish. It shows two things: in the first place, 
the infatuation of false pkide ; and in the second, the 
power of temptation. These wretched men were re- 
puted to be rich, and their bank was one of the oldest 
in the British metropolis, having been for more than 
a century the property or under the control of some 
of their ancestors. Thus, they were esteemed, respected, 
and looked up to. They had a deep stake in the 
establishment, and the idea of bankruptcy was one, no 
doubt, from which they turned with horror. And 
thus it was, that the alternative presented itself either 
to employ the funds sacredly confided to their care, 



TEMPTATION. 83 

with the object of extricating themselves from a 
momentary difficulty, or to call their creditors together 
and make a clean breast of it. The latter was, of 
course, the true, the honest, the. straightforward policy. 
But the former tempted the infatuated men, who per- 
suaded themselves that all would soon be well again, 
and whose pride of position induced them to turn with 
agony from the very idea of a cloud or a stain upon 
their credit. Hence, as we may infer, the false, th 
guilty step and its consequences. 

It is almost invariably so, under similar circum 
stances. The first departure from the right path in- 
duces an apparent necessity for other errors ; and thus 
the bewildered and excited hurry on from step to step, 
until ruin yawns before them. The power of tempta- 
tion in cases of emergency is almost irresistible. It 
has led to the ruin of thousands. The Syren whispers 
in a subtle and seductive voice, and the victim who 
listens is hurried on until madness rules the hour, and 
all sense of propriety and justice is lost. How many 
illustrations might be given. There is scarcely an in- 
dividual who is not acquainted with some melancholy 
case. Our own city has presented many, while the 
monetary world is full of them. 

No one can adequately appreciate his own moral 
courage or moral weakness until both qualities have 
been tested and tried. There are certain situations that 
may be filled with perfect impunity, because they hold 
out few or no temptations ; and there are others which 
abound with peril to the yielding, the avaricious, the 
impulsive, and the gay. Again, life in a great city 
abounds with shoals and quicksands for the young, the 
inexperienced, and the unsophisticated. The allure- 



84 TEMPTATION. 

ments are so numerous, the pleasures so dazzling and 
fascinating, the competitions of dress and fashion_so ex- 
citing, that few can entirely resist them. Parents do not 
sufficiently consider this view. Many young men have 
been misled in this way, and overcome by the power 
of some subtle temptation. Others over-estimate their 
moral strength. They believe that they cannot be 
moved or affected ; and under this impression; they 
submit themselves to scenes and excitements, to society 
and to allurements, for which they are totally unfitted, 
and only discover their error when it is too late. 

The delusion with most of those who are induced to 
misapply funds, to commit forgeries, to obtain goods 
under false pretences, is to persuade themselves that 
they will correct the delinquency in time, and before 
it is discovered. They deceive themselves with the 
impression that their embarrassment is merely momen- 
tary, and if they can only postpone the exposure for a 
few weeks or a few months, all will be well again. 
If, too, they are apparently successful with the first 
effort, they become emboldened and blinded, and thus 
even neglect the ordinary precautions. Nay, the 
crime becomes familiar to their minds; they invent 
some plausible apology for its repeated commission, 
and endeavor to close their eyes to any serious conse- 
quences. It is painful to dwell upon the frightful 
denouement, and hence its contemplation is avoided. 
The power of temptation increases with every false 
step, until at last, desperation is the controlling spirit, 
and the victim rushes on, reckless of consequences. 
"When however, the delusion vanishes, and the in- 
fatuation is stripped of its delirious excitement — when 
the veil is withdrawn, and the awful penalty of dis- 



TEMPTATION. 85 

grace looms up vividly in the distance, the despair 
and the agony, the remorse and the madness, are 
terrible. 

" Lead us not into temptation" is the language of 
Holy Writ; and it cannot be repeated too frequently, 
or remembered too constantly. Ambition has its 
temptations — pkide has its temptations — and so also, 
beauty, and power, and fashion, and jealousy, 
and envy. All allure, dazzle, and betray. And 
when, too, false pride, or the fear of the mocking scorn 
of the world, induces the sensitive to hesitate between 
the right path and the wrong — to pause between 
honesty and dishonesty, rather than brave the cold 
and heartless looks of former friends and companions 
■ — the peril is a fearful one ; and if the wrong path be 
chosen, 'the consequences in the multitude of cases are 
disgrace, wretchedness, and ruin. Better, in every 
emergency, to exercise true moral courage, and face 
all difficulties, real or imaginary, by a truthful, 
manly, honest, and upright course. Be not induced 
to resort to another, even for a moment; for when 
once involved in the tangled meshes of the deceitful 
syren of temptation, it will be found almost impossible 
to retrace the false step, or to effect an honorable 
escape. 
5 



(Swig COTrang.-~Sog|offb aito Pro|ffot>. 

" "Delightful task ! to rear the tender thought, 
To teach the young idea how to shoot, 
To pour the fresh instruction o'er the mind, 
To breathe the enlivening spirit, and to fix 
The generous purpose in the glowing breast !"— Thomson. 

IN the course of an address some time since de- 
livered at Girard College, by Mr. Job E. Tyson, 
lie alluded to the subject of early training, and his 
remarks were characterized by much force and pro- 
priety. We will not attempt to give the exact words, 
but the general tenor of his argument was somewhat 
to this effect : — 

" To make good citizens we must begin with the child. 
It is the young idea that must be taught how to shoot. 
We must watch it in the tender germ of infancy, re- 
move the weeds which would choke or poison it, and 
so water and invigorate it, as it rises to catch the air 
and the sun, that, like a healthy and useful plant, it 
may bring forth fruit as well as leaves and flowers. 
It has been asserted that the mind and opinions of a 
nation can be permanently formed by the ballad- 
monger. The apothegm is false, unless the ballads 
are taught before the gristle of infancy is hardened 
into the bone of manhood. What impressions are 
permanent except the lessons of childhood ? The sen- 
timents then imbibed, insensibly but certainly mould 
the heart and form the character. To know the 
nursery-maid of the child, and the teacher and school 
(36) 



EARLY TRAINING. 67 

books of the boy, is to know the opinions and aspira- 
tions of the man. We may attempt to rub out these 
impressions by the attritions of counteracting and even 
hostile influences, but they cannot be obliterated. 
They survive the rude shocks of the world. Though 
they may sink into temporary forgetfulness, they re- 
appear, as faithful mirrors, to reflect ineffaceable 
images of the early past. The tree could as soon be 
divested of the nature of the stalk, which was grafted 
into the trunk of the delicate sapling, as manhood 
throw off the lessons and maxims of susceptible child- 
hood. 

Where is the chief spring of vice and crime in a 
populous city? Setting aside anomalous cases of 
what are called natural depravity — where are we to 
look for the origin of evil, but in neglected youth ? 
A fatherless child, whose mother is poor, is either idle 
at home, or engaged in employments where he is an 
apt learner of the vices of the society to which he is 
condemned. He grows, up in the example of a cor- 
rupt and a corrupting class. He can have no higher 
standard of moral rectitude than the conduct around 
him inspires. Exposed to every influence which can 
enfeeble or contaminate virtue, with an imperfect 
sense of right, a will unchecked, passions unrestrained 
and unregulated, with no ideas of religion and the 
Deity but the most vague and shadowy, how can he 
be a good man ? Ignorant of all that it is discredit 
able not to know, and irregularly engaged at intervals, 
perhaps, at many occupations, without an adequate 
knowledge of any — how can he be a good citizen? 
A boy thus permitted to grow up, is ready for the 
uoroetration of any mischief that will give excitement 



88 EARLY TRAINING. 

to his spirits, or mark him in the estimation of his 
comrades. Without a regular calling he cannot earn 
a subsistence ; without the habit of industry he is too 
idle to work. He falls from one sink of infamy to 
another, until he ends his useless and pernicious career 
in the loathsome degradation of the almshouse or the 
penitentiary." All this is true, and forcible as true. 

"We cordially endorse every syllable it embodies. 
The influence and importance of early training — 
early impressions can scarcely be exaggerated. 
Children are imitative beings, and their minds and 
hearts catch up, imbibe, and reflect the morals, the 
maimers, the tastes and habits of the society in which 
they " live and move." The vices will thus be imi- 
tated and perpetuated as well as the virtues. And 
this may readily be discovered on examining closely 
into the social history of any large family. The petu- 
lant father will too often, by example, make a petulant 
son ; and the flippant and idle mother serve as tHe 
model for the heartless and indifferent daughter. 
Precept is much, but example is more. It too often 
happens that parents declaim for hours against the 
very failings and infirmities which they themselves are 
constantly exhibiting. We cannot see in ourselves 
what we readily dectect in others. Many of us are 
blind to our own faults, while we have Argus eyes for 
those of our neighbors. 

The education of the young, the proper education, 
not only mental and physical, but moral and social, 
may be classed among the highest and most responsi- 
ble of human duties. Parents and guardians have not 
only the charge of minds, but of souls ; they not only 
influence the present, but future generations. It is 



EARLY TRAINING. 89 

therefore that early habits of idleness, of disrespect, of 
insolence, and of moral recklessness, should be guarded 
against with the most vigilant caution. The moral 
and mental training, once fairly and properly com- 
menced, and the task will be comparatively easy 
thereafter. But if insolence or disobedience be taught 
or tolerated in childhood, the result in a majority of 
cases will be truly deplorable. How few sufficiently 
appreciate and watch their own example ! How few 
who are looked up to as the heads of the household, 
remember that eager eyes are upon them, that young 
natures are being moulded and characterized, accord- 
ing to their looks, and words, and deeds ! How often 
is juvenile audacity mistaken for precocious intellect, 
and insolence and insult from the young and thought- 
less applauded as readiness, wit, and genius ! 

The selfishness and the vanity of poor human na- 
ture are apt in these cases to make a fearful, a fatal 
mistake. The boy who is thus trained and en- 
couraged, will soon assume the boldness of a rebel, 
and mock at and defy the parental authority that 
in his earlier years applauded his forwardness, and 
thus encouraged a spirit of disobedience. On the 
other hand, a judicious course, one calculated to en- 
courage timidity and rebuke insolence ; one suited to 
develope the mind and its energies, to mould, soften, 
and elevate the heart, to strengthen, beautify and 
adorn the character, is sure to produce good fruit. 
Early impressions, we repeat, are ever the most last- 
ing. They live and linger in the mind and memory 
till the latest period of human existence. How im- 
portant, then, that they should be of the right kind ; 
that parents, guardians, teachers, should understand 
and appreciate their duties and responsibilities. 



msiljitg. 



'The heart is like a lonely bird 

That sadly sings, 
Brooding upon its nest unheard. 
With folded wings." 

Where glow exalted sense and taste refined, 
There keener anguish rankles in the mind ; 
There feeling is diffused through every part, 
Thrills in each nerve, and lives in all the heart ; 
And those whose generous souls each tear would keep 
From other's eyes are born themselves to weep." 

IT is the misfortune of many to be over sensitive, 
to be affected deeply and keenly by comparative 
trifles, and thus to be in a constant state of disquiet, 
anxiety and uneasiness. On the other hand, it may be 
regarded as a cruelty and a crime in individuals who 
cannot feel themselves — who are dull, cold and indif- 
ferent — to sport or trifle with the sensibility of others. 
Happiness has been destroyed, and even life has been 
shortened by this harshness. The victims of acute 
sensibility may be numbered by thousands. Mgny waste 
away in quiet and in sorrow, unwilling that tne world 
should see their trials or know of their grievances. 
Others assume a confidence which they do not feel 
and thus perish, as it were, with a smile upon their lips. 
Others again, maddened by thought, resort to suicide, 
and thus, in a paroxysm of despair, cut short the deli- 
cate and fragile thread of human existence. Who 
cannot single out from his circle of friends and as- 
sociates, some pale, thin, and shadowy victim of sensi- 
(90) 



SENSIBILITY. 91 

bility, some creature of feeling and emotion, whose 
hopes have been blighted and prospects overshadowed, 
and to whom the world presents little that is bright, 
buoyant and cheerful. "Who does not remember cases 
in which the heart's best affections have been wasted 
upon worthless objects, truth and fidelity been repaid 
y falsehood and inconstancy, and the bright dream 
of youth and hope made a delusion and a mockery ! 

Only a day or two since we passed in the street a 
wasted and care-worn figure, in which we were merely 
able to recognize a beauty and a belle of ten years be- 
fore. She had in an evil hour been sought and won 
by a dashing young man of irregular habits. Against 
the wishes of her parents she became his wife, and 
added to the romance and excitement of the moment 
by a runaway match. She knew that he was intem- 
perate, but he promised to reform — promised so 
solemnly, and with so many protestations, that in her 
innocence and infatuation she believed him, and con- 
fided her destiny to his hands. In a few years, he was 
a bankrupt in character and means, and his household 
is now the abode of want, shame, and misery, rather 
than of comfort, honor and happiness. Nevertheless, 
that first wild dream lingered with, and occasionally 
brightened her susceptible nature, and she never 
wholly lost the hope that the day would come, when 
the chosen of her heart would abandon his evil ways 
and vicious companions. Ten years have gone by, 
and he is still a drunkard. His condition is most de- 
graded. The handsome youth is now disfigured, 
bloated, and an object of pity and disgust. Dependent 
upon the bounty of a few relatives, he still drags on 
a miserable existence, and his wife, the belle of the gay 



92 SENSIBILITY. 

and brilliant circle, how fearful too, has been the 
change in her ! Eyes that were once bright and beau- 
tiful, are now dim and sunken. Cheeks that were 
once round and ruddy are now pale and hollow ; a form 
that was once fairy-like and graceful, seems, and is 
indeed but a shadow and a wreck. And even now, a 
kind word, a generous expression, a penitent acknowl- 
edgment — and that faithful wife is willing to forget 
and forgive ; and to believe that there are yet bright 
days in store for her. And mav Heaven in its infinite 
mercy speedily realize the hope ! 

But sensibility is not confined to the gentler sex, 
and to mere matters of affection. Years ago, and we 
knew as. gifted and as pure a spirit as ever was en- 
shrined in a human form, broken down by the treach- 
ery of a friend. The two had been schoolboys to- 
gether. They had grown up to manhood, preserving 
the confidence and good feeling that had commenced 
so early, and sharing each other's every thought. 
Some business engagement at last betrayed a new trait 
in the character of each, and the one sacrificed his 
friend for a pecuniary consideration, while that friend 
was so overwhelmed with the treachery and the false- 
hood, that he sickened and sank beneath the blow. He 
did not believe before that such perfidy existed in man. 
His hopes and his happiness were so fully bound up in 
the fidelity and truth of his friend, that life itself gave 
way when the delusion vanished and the error was 
discovered. The harsh and the heartless should be 
admonished by these cases. The multitude, perhaps, 
take the world as they find it, to use an ordinary 
phrase, and are indifferent either to praise or censure, 
except under very peculiar circumstances. But there 



THE MOTHER AND HER SONS. 93 

are others again, who seem to live only a reflective 
life, the sunshine of whose mortal existence is gathered 
from the smile of another, the source of whose earthly 
happiness may be found in the kindness and love, of 
parent or husband, brother or friend. Such, therefore, 
must be dealt with, as the musician deals with the finely 
strung instrument. Gentle and skilful touches will 
produce exquisite music, while rude and unpolished, 
will jar with painful discord upon every gentler feeing 
and sensibility. 



% Ufatjpr 8Kb \tx Suns. %n inribrai 
ra |leal fife. 

" Think gently of the erring ! 

Ye know not of the power 
With which the dark temptation came, 

In some unguarded hour. 
Ye may not know how earnestly 

They struggled, or how well, 
Until the hour of darkness came 

And sadly thus they fell." 

IT AFFOKDS us no little pleasure to notice instances 
in which the erring have been won by kindness 
and benevolence, from the paths of impropriety and sin. 
Such examples are not only cheering in the particular 
cases, but they are well calculated to stimulate and 
encourage philanthropy — to induce others to make 
like efforts for the rescue and reform of the misguided 
—and thus to assist in the restoration of the unfortu- 



9<± THE MOTHER AND HER SONS. 

nate and the wretched, who otherwise would be utterly 
abandoned and hopelessly lost. How few of us, when 
passing judgment even upon the vicious, turn for a 
moment to the contemplation of their early lives, the 
evils and temptations by which they were surrounded 
or ask what in all probability would have been our 
own conduct and fate under like circumstances ? How 
few make the necessary allowances for bad example, 
ignorance and poverty ! We hear that an individual 
has been arrested for theft, for fraud, for misdemeanor, 
or some similar violation of law, and our prejudices are 
at once excited, and the feeling of mercy is scarcely 
experienced for a moment. And yet the miserable 
offender may be, to a certain extent, the victim of cir- 
cumstances — an evil-doer, not from natural inclination 
to vice, but through bad associations, intemperate 
parents, vicious guardians and guides. At all events, 
when the offence is found to be a first one, and when 
youth and hope are still on the side of the erring, 
a chance, an opportunity should be afforded, kind 
words should be uttered, encouragement for better 
things should be mingled with gentle admonition; 
and thus, in many cases, heart-cheering results 
would ensue. We may give an illustration from 
real life. 

Not many years ago, an aged female, miserably 
clad, presented herself at the house of a professional 
gentleman, one of the most distinguished of our citi- 
zens. She had with her a basket of tapes, thread, and 
other trifles of the kind. She asked for the gentle- 
man of the house ; and on being told that he was 
absent, inquired for the lady. The latter, on making 
her appearance, was touched by the miserable aspect 



THE MOTHER AND HER SONS. 95 

of the poor woman ; and promptly purchased a few 
of the articles in her basket. The stranger then begged 
attention for a moment to a tale of sorrow. She said 
she had not tasted food since the morning of the pre- 
ceding day; and worse, she had a helpless son at 
home, who had been without sustenance of any kind 
still longer. But she had come, not so much to ask 
for bread, as to implore mercy. She had another, an 
erring, but beloved son in prison, and she desired the 
husband of the lady to exert himself to procure his 
discharge. She was told that the gentleman would be 
at home at a particular hour, when, if so disposed, she 
might call and feel certain of seeing him. She bowed 
her thanks, promised to return, and did so accordingly 
at the time designated. 

" Well, my good woman," said the gentleman, " I 
have heard of your former visit. What do you want 
me to do for you?" 

" Oh ! sir, I came to supplicate mercy for my son, 
who is in prison." 

"What is his name?" 

"D ." 

He shook his head, and said that the young man 
was in for a very grave charge, and named the 
offence. 

" Oh sir, he is not the one. You have confounded 
him with another — another son ;" and her voice 
trembled with the admission. 

" What ! — have you two so sadly circumstanced ?" 

She burst into tears, and exclaimed: "I have — 
alas ! I have." 

" And which do you wish discharged ?" 

" It is a hard thing for a mother to select between 



96 THE MOTHEK AND HEE SONS. 

two children. But Charles, sir, is far less guilty than 
his brother. He has of late years been my only stay ; 
and not mine alone, but that of his wretched and in- 
valid brother, whom the ravages of disease have 
rendered little better than an idiot. Charles has sus- 
tained us both ; and I firmly believe that his strong 
desire to procure sustenance for an aged mother and a 
feeble brother, induced him to commit the theft for 
which he is now in prison." 

"You seem," remarked the gentleman, "not always 
to have been in the situation of life in which you are 
now placed." 

The Mother. — I once was prosperous, once was 
happy. But for many years I have drained the cup 
of sorrow to its very dregs. I received a tolerable 
education, and possessed a small property. In an evil 
hour I married the object of my affections. I say an 
evil hour, for alas ! my husband soon became dissipated, 
squandered the means that I brought him, and 
left me to struggle with poverty as best I could, 
while he pursued his dissolute and vicious courses. 
His example has been the ruin of his children. Edward 
followed the footsteps of his profligate father, rather 
than the counsels of his unfortunate mother, and 
strayed far, far from the path of rectitude and honor 
Charles was of gentle, amiable disposition, but pos- 
sessed less intellect than his bold and desperate 
brother; while Nicholas has been rendered by dis- 
ease an helpless object of pity, and incapable of taking 
care of himself. Such, good sir, is the sad story of my 
family. Such is a brief picture of my position and 
misfortunes. And therefore it is, that I implore your 
clemency and assistance in behalf of my misguided 



THE MOTHER AND HER SONS. 97 

child. I believe that he is not naturally vicious, know 
that he has always treated his mother with affection 
and for years has generously shared his scanty pittance 
with her. I do not mean, sir, to attempt any justifi- 
cation of his conduct, in the matter for which he has 
been arrested. But it surely admits of some pallia- 
tion, when all the facts are taken into view. I hope, 
sir, that you, animated by some consideration for the 
misguided and the needy, will regard him rather as 
an object of commiseration than of punishment. The 
article he took was of small value, and it was the first 
time that he ever appropriated to his own use what 
belonged to another. I am old, penniless, and wretched. 
I have no other dependence than this, my unfortunate 
child. If he should not be discharged from imprison- 
ment, I have no alternative but the alms house. 
Surely, sir, public justice has already been satisfied 
by the punishment that Charles has endured, and you 
may interfere in his behalf, and with propriety. Once 
released, and he may reform ; and oh ! my dear sir, it 
is that hope alone which renders life an object worth 
possessing. Could I but see my child restored, could 
I feel convinced that his feet were once more in the 
path of rectitude and of virtue, I would thank God for 
his goodness, and look forward to death and the grave 
with resignation." 

Some further conversation took place, and the gen- 
tleman, touched and melted by the appeal of the 
mother, promised to make due inquiry into all the 
circumstances of the case ; and if he should find them 
to correspond with her statement, to exercise all his 
influence on behalf of her son. The result was favor- 
able. The story of the poor woman was fully veri- 



98 THE MOTHER AND HER SONS. 

fied — Charles was discharged, and was restored to the 
arms, the heart, and the home of the parent who had 
clung to him with so much tenacity. The meeting 
was most affecting. The mother wept with excess of 
joy ; while tears also streamed profusely down the 
cheeks of her son. 

Some time after, Mr. Thompson, the gentleman to 
whom we have referred so repeatedly in the course of 
this brief sketch, again met the mother in the street 
She was decently and comfortably clad, her counte- 
nance was cheerful, and a weight of sorrow had evi 
dently been taken from her heart and brow. She 
manifested the liveliest satisfaction at this meeting, 
was eloquent in her thanks, and in commendation of 
the conduct of her son. 

" Charles, since his restoration, had been steady, in- 
dustrious and temperate. He was, she hoped and be- 
lieved, fully reformed. He was not only able by rigid 
frugality, to support himself and mother, but to 
minister to the necessities and comforts of his afflicted 
brother." And here she again broke forth in thanks. 
" Mr. Thompson had not only saved her boy from a 
life of infamy and wretchedness, but he had bright- 
ened, as with a beam from Heaven, a house that was 
dark and desolate." 

A tear trembled in the eye of Mr. Thompson, and 
shaking the hand of the grateful mother, he mentally 
thanked God for the happy result. 

" Speak kindly to the erring ! 

Thou yei may lead them hack, 
With holy words and tones of love, 

From misery's thorny track f 
Forget not thou hast often sinned, 

And sinful yet must he- 
Deal gently with the erring one 

As God has dealt with thee I" 



% little ka fatter, % far of 

"All paused and lingered, but the hour passed by, 
And yet he came not." 

ACOEEESPONDENT informs us that he holds a 
public situation in connection with several other 
gentlemen, and that not a week goes by in which he is 
not compelled to lose several hours of valuable time, 
in consequence of the unnecessary delay of his col- 
leagues. Some of them are invariably too late ; and 
their reasons therefor are, generally speaking, of the 
most trifling character. We fear that our corres- 
pondent is not alone in this matter. The error of 
negligence and procrastination is one that prevails to 
a sad extent indeed. We have alluded to it again and 
again, but it may be feared without producing much 
good. Nevertheless, it is only by repeated intimations 
and admonitions that evils of this character can be re- 
formed. There are moods of the mind, when a word 
of enlightened counsel will not only be listened to 
with respect, but will produce the desired result. Any 
one who is in the habit of attending a steamboat land- 
ing, will have abundant opportunities of noticing in- 
dividuals who arrive just as the boat is about to push 
off, or very frequently after she has gone, and thus a 
little TOO LATE ! But the system of postponement and 
delay prevails to some extent in almost every condition 
6 (99) 



100 A LITTLE TOO LATE. 

of life. At this moment there are hundreds of in- 
dividuals who, with large estates at their disposal, feel 
that it is altogether essential for the satisfactory dis- 
tribution of their property, that they should make a 
"Will. And they intend to. do so. They have thought 
over the matter, and arranged certain bequests in 
their minds. Old friends will be remembered, 
cherished relatives will be provided for, and meri- 
torious Charities will not be forgotten. At least they 
so believe. Nevertheless the chances are, ten to one, 
that they will postpone the solemn duty from day to 
day and year to year, until at last sickness will strike 
them down and paralyze, and then they will discover, as 
death approaches and the intellect wavers and becomes 
enfeebled, that they have hesitated too long, that they 
are not fitted for the responsible task- — in other words, 
that it is too late. The consequences of such an error 
are often deplorable. The law is appealed to, years 
are occupied in litigation, while bitterness, feuds, un- 
kindness and bad blood are the sad results. There are 
few, however, who do not postpone and procrastinate 
under certain circumstances. We have known in- 
dividuals who, conscious that they had committed an 
injustice, resolved to apologize and make all the 
reparation in their power. They felt that such a 
course was due, not not only to themselves, but to the 
injured party. They were abashed and mortified at 
their own conduct, and could not feel mentally satis- 
fied or easy in conscience. Nevertheless, they hesi- 
tated, excused to themselves the various postpone- 
ments and delays, and finally, for want of moral 
courage, neglected the matter entirely, and thus 
permitted an injustice to accompany them to the 



A LITTLE TOO LATE. 101 

grave. Some years since an individual of this city 
received a highly favorable proposition from a gen 
tleman of St. Louis, to enter into a promising business. 
The opportunity was a rare one, and the only diffi- 
culty that presented, was the necessity of a change of 
residence. This caused hesitation, and a fortnight 
was permitted to go by before a letter of reply was 
forwarded, the excuse being that it would not do to 
reply in a doubtful tone, until a decision, either of a 
negative or an affirmative character, had been resolved 
upon. It so happened, however, that a third party 
residing in St. Louis, had the refusal, should not a 
satisfactory reply be received within a reasonable 
period. When at last, therefore, a letter of accept- 
ance came, it was at least a week TOO late ! Years 
elapsed thereafter, before another chance presented, 
but fortunately, the error exercised a powerful influ- 
ence upon the character of the delinquent, and he is 
now one of the most regular and reliable business 
men in the country. On another occasion, some years 
since, a citizen of Philadelphia was tendered by the 
then President of the United States, a truly responsible 
office, one, however, that he had not applied for. The 
offer was unexpected, and it somewhat confused and 
startled. More than a week passed by without a 
reply, either favorable or otherwise ; when, as in the 
case above, an applicant who was on the ground, and 
who was earnest and anxious, made another desperate 
effort and received the appointment. Twenty-four 
hours thereafter, a reply came from the Philadelphian, 
but the writer had hesitated too long. It was too 
late. And so with every day affairs of life. Only 
yesterday a gentleman stepped into our office, who 



102 A LITTLE TOO LATE. 

had made an engagement of some importance with 
another, and the two had fixed the hour at ten o'clock 
precisely. Fifteen minutes elapsed, and one of the 
parties was still absent. The other'took out his watch, 
said that he had another engagement, and of course 
took his departure. Five minutes thereafter, the 
delinquent hurried in, somewhat excited, especially as 
his own business was the subject of consideration, but 
he was TOO late I We subsequently made some in- 
quiries, and found that he was no less than three 
hours in hunting up the individual whom he had 
missed in the morning, and simply by an idle delay 
of twenty minutes. And what, gentle reader, is your 
habit in this respect ? Are you prompt and punctual ? 
Is your word as good as your bond ? Do you keep 
your engagements rigidly and faithfully? Or are 
you also always eager, excited, irregular and unre- 
liable, because from some weakness of character or error 
of system, you are ever behind time, and thus a little 

TOO LATE? 



atrimmtg; or, % ^atljek in a Dilemma. 



'From that day forth in peace and joyous bliss, 
They lived together long without debate ; 

No private jars, nor spite of enemies, 
Could shake the safe assurance of their state.' 



ACOEEESPONDENT, who describes himself as 
"An Old Bachelor," and who appears to be some- 
what nervous upon the subject of matkimony, asks 
for a few hints or suggestions in relation to court- 
ship. He says that he desires to change his condition, 
but that he has so long lived a life of single blessed- 
ness, that he feels awkward and uncomfortable in the 
society of ladies ; and is constantly aj >prehensive lest 
he should commit some mistake. He has discovered, 
moreover, that he has made one sad error, in having 
postponed the most important act of his life till so 
late a period — for he now perceives that the chances 
are decidedly against him. In other words, he is 
puzzled to distinguish the real from the artificial; and 
is annoyed, lest in his efforts to obtain a wife at his 
time of life, he shall secure the hand but not the 
heart ; or that the marriage on the part of the lady 
shall be one of convenience, and with the object of 
obtaining an establishment, rather than one of feeling 
or affection. Our correspondent is evidently in a 
dilemma. His case, moreover, is by no means rare ; 
it is one of many of a like character. He describes him- 
self as in the neighborhood of fifty, and yet not more 

(103) 



104 MATRIMONY. 

than forty-five by appearance, or in comparison with 
men generally of that age. Nevertheless he hopes or 
expects to get a wife wIid "is twenty or there- 
abouts" — we quote his own language. This seems to 
us a very extravagant expectation, and one that is 
neither sensible nor natural. Let the case be reversed, 
and our bachelor will at once see his true position. He 
desires a young lady of twenty to marry a man of 
fifty, or one who is thirty years her senior! Now let 
us suppose that he were twenty, and that a lady-love 
of fifty should present herself. What would be his 
indignation? True, there may be some disparity, 
and in favor of the former, but it should not be beyond 
ten years at the utmost. The laws of nature, as well 
as of good' taste, revolt at a further difference, and 
matches that exhibit a greater, are seldom harmonious 
or happy. 

No wonder that our correspondent finds it difficult 
to get along with the gentler sex, with such views 
and expectations to regulate his conduct. No wonder 
that he occasionally sees younger society preferred 
to his, although he may possess advantages of position 
and wealth. There are mercenary parents who are 
willing to sacrifice their children upon the altar of 
Mammon, and who regard any match as a good one 
that secures a flourishing establishment, no matter 
what the relative ages of the parties ; but alas ! for the 
victim wife. Alas! for tki young creature who is 
bound for life to an old man, comparatively speaking, 
or to one who must soon become old, and who, find- 
ing no kindred sympathy or association in her liege- 
lord and legal partner, is induced by the necessities 
of the case to flutter in the fashionable world, to seek 



MATRIMONY. 105 

new excitements for her thoughts and feelings, and 
to be subjected to the most fearful temptations. Early 
marriages are advisable in the great multitude of cases, 
and especially where the husband is of settled character, 
and actively and prosperously engaged in some regular 
occupation. This regularity of occupation should be 
the first object of every sensible young man, of all, 
indeed, who desire to maintain an independent position. 
Any other policy is fraught with a thousand vicissi- 
tudes. Some formal profession or calling, some regular 
avocation, by which" the time, the thoughts and the 
energies may be actively and profitably employed, is 
in a country like this, absolutely essential. It is 
essential to good character, to correct habits, to social 
position, and to worldly prosperity. And then — matri- 
mony, as it seems to us, is the next important step. 
It gives us a new life, a fresh existence in the partner 
of our choice, and it also imparts a fresh incentive to 
industry and ambition. It elevates us in our own 
esteem, it makes us feel that we are responsible, not 
only for our own destiny, but for that of another 
being, who has confided all that is valuable upon 
earth, to our care and keeping. It is, it is true, the 
source of new anxieties ; but it is also the fountain of 
many new blessings. How lonely, how desolate, how 
petulant in most cases, is the old bachelor ! If poor, 
he is toe often neglected and deserted — if rich he may 
be envied, but there is no heart that will look up to 
and love him — there are no eyes that will watch 
patiently for his coming — there is no family circle of 
which he is the soul and the centre — there are no 
domestic associations in which he can participate and 
feel happy. It is therefore, we contend, that our cor- 



106 MATRIMONY. 

respondent has postponed a sacred duty too long. 
But "better late than never." There are still chances, 
many and tempting ; and although at his time of life, 
he cannot expect to pick and choose among the fairy 
creatures who are so calculated to dazzle and bewitch ; 
he can, no doubt, readily discover a fitting partner, 
one suited to his habits, tastes, and circumstances, by 
resorting to the proper means. Our advice, then, is, 
to postpone the consummation so devoutly wished, as 
little longer as possible. He must moreover, not be 
rebuffed by the first cold look or the first critical re- 
mark. Courtesy, kindness and assiduity, will accom- 
plish much in cases of this kind. He can readily dis- 
cover a heart that is disengaged, and then h.e must deter- 
mine to use every honorable effort to achieve its con- 
quest. The business of courtship may at first seem 
awkward, but he will soon get used to it ; and then 
he will find that there is nothing more delightful. 
Its very anxieties will constitute sources of pleasures ; 
and when at last he discovers a sympathetic spirit, a 
soul in harmony with his — when he becomes satisfied 
that he has touched a tender chord, and that there is 
another being in the world who is willing to mingle 
her destiny with his, and who cherishes for him a 
degree of esteem, respect and affection that she never 
cherished for another — who, in brief, is willing to 
dedicate her life to his happiness, he will, for the first 
time, begin to realize the dream, that matrimony is 
the only true condition of enlightened, social and 
domestic existence on this side the grave. 

" There's a bliss beyond all that tbe minstrel has told, 
When two that are linked in one heavenly tie, 
With heart never changing, and brow never cold, 
Love- on through all ills, and love on till they die." 



iamMrag; or, % §np% ana % SUfpxyn. 



A polished, snbtle knave, with mellow voice, 
Bat heart as hard as iron." 



GAMBLING- is not a vice of modern times. It has 
been a theme of moralists for ages. A century 
and a half ago, a distinguished writer classed the whole 
tribe of gamesters under two divisions — dupes and 
sharpers. The dupe is generally a person of some for- 
tune and weak intellect. He plays, either because he 
has become infatuated, or that the system is fashion- 
able. Thus, if any game of chance be proposed, he 
will no more refuse to make one at the table, than 
among a set of hard drinkers, he would object to take 
his glass in turn, because he is not dry. There is not 
a more melancholy object than a gentleman of sense 
thus infatuated. He makes himself and family a prey 
to a gang of villains, more infamous than highway- 
men, and, perhaps, when his ruin is completed, he is 
glad to join the very scoundrels who destroyed him, 
and live upon the spoil of others, whom he can draw 
into the same folly that proved so fatal to himself. 

The sharper, on the other hand, is a gamester who 
makes a decent figure in the world, is endowed with 
many amiable qualities, which would appear with 
great lustre, were they not eclipsed by the odious char- 
acter which is affixed to his trade. In order to carry 
on the common business of his profession, he must be 
a man of quick and lively parts, attended with a stoi- 

(107) 



108 GAMBLING. 

cal calmness of temper, and a constant presence of 
mind. He must smile at the loss of thousands, and not 
be discomposed, though ruin stare him in the face. 
As he is compelled to mingle among the rich and the 
educated, in order to secure victims, he must not want 
politeness and affability, and must be master of an in- 
genuous and liberal air, and have a seeming openness 
of behavior. These, be it remembered, are portraits 
sketched one hundred and fifty years ago. Time has 
rolled on ever since, with a noiseless, but unceasing 
movement, and jet gamblers and gambling are the 
same. The dupes and the sharpers may be found in 
every leading city of the New World, as well as the 
Old. The vice is the most exciting, seductive and 
tempting, to which human nature can be subjected. It 
wins, dazzles, and betrays. And when, too, its agents 
and ministers, as is generally the case, are polished, 
plausible, and agreeable, the credulous and the yield- 
ing, especially if idle and with abundant means, are 
readily led astray.* In Philadelphia, we are told that 
there are dozens of gambling establishments. Some 
of them abound with a thousand fascinations. They 
are fitted up with elegance, nay, with splendor — some 
are located in the leading thoroughfares, and most of 
them are conducted with an air of such gentility, that 
the idea of vice or villainy seems altogether out of the 
question with the young, the eager, the unpracticed, 
and the uninitiated. Nevertheless, a more certain road 
to ruin could not be pointed out. The result is inevi- 
table. Alas! for the infatuated wretches who give 
themselves up to this mocking delusion. The more 
they indulge, the more certain will be their fate. The 
fascination becomes an infatuation, and it at once un- 



GAMBLING. 103' 

mans, masters, and controls them. The system through- 
out is one of deceit, hypocrisy, and fraud. The game- 
ster by profession soon becomes heartless, and his only 
object is to win. He cares not whether by fair means 
or foul. Any advice, any trick, any fraud will be re- 
sorted to, if it can be concealed, and detection thus be 
avoided. Nay, the art, to a certain extent, implies 
subtle fraud, which is only regarded as superior skill. 
If the means employed in gambling be cards, they can 
be marked or arranged for the purpose, and thus, while 
the credulous victim deludes himself with the belief 
that the chances must surely turn in his favor, he is 
only regarded as a miserable dupe, is plied with wine, 
is stimulated with challenges, and thus, his ruin is 
only made the more certain. It is probable that some 
of those at the head of the leading and most successful 
gambling " hells" of the United States, could name 
dozens of young men, who have rushed on step by 
step, until robbed of their all — poverty, and want, and 
shame, and desperation, and despair, characterize and 
close the last hours of their existence. Nay, at this 
moment, they may be able to see among their visitors, 
individuals who are just beginning to feel the powers 
of the temptation, who do not imagine the extent to 
which it may influence and madden them, and who are 
nevertheless cultivated with care, won on gradually, 
and thus fitted for the ruin that has overtaken so many 
others. We occasionally hear of honorable gamblers, 
of men who would not take an undue advantage ; but 
we confess that we have our doubts. The system is 
one of iniquity, and the heart must be callous indeed, 
that can look on calmly, and participate in a contest, 
that may not only beggar the unguarded, the unsus- 



110 GAMBLING. 

pecting, and the rash, but which may carry anxiety 
and anguish into the family circle, and lead in some 
cases, to desperation, despair, and suicide. The vice, 
moreover, is secret to some extent, and thus the vic- 
tim is often ruined, before his friends and relatives are 
able to discover that the monomania has seized upon 
him. Nay, he is prompted, after his first losses, to re- 
new his efforts and double his stakes, in the hope — 
vain, mad, and delusive — to recover. Bmt, alas ! he is 
on the downward path, and the chances are as a thou- 
sand to one, that the sharpers into whose society he 
has ventured, and to whose wiles he is subjected, will 
never release their grasp until his fortune is utterly 
exhausted. Such, then, is gambling, and such its re- 
sults in a great majority of cases. It is stated that many 
years ago, an old print was exhibited at Oxford, in 
which a Count Gruiscard was represented at first sight 
as wearing a hat and feather, embroidered clothes, dia- 
mond buttons, and the full court-dress of those days. 
By pulling a string, however, the folds of the paper 
were shifted, and the face only remained, a new body 
came forward, and the brilliant count appeared only 
to be a devil. How many polished knaves, similarly 
arrayed, may be found as the master spirits of the 
gambling " hells" of this and other cities. 



%\i $tttjj, sift ijrar (©prtoratits. 

" Though rich myself v I am the poor man's friend." 

IN the course of a conversation a day or two ago, 
with an active and enterprising merchant of this 
city, we expressed satisfaction that he was still able to 
find a leisure hour to devote to works of benevolence 
and philanthropy, to measures calculated to promote 
the greatest good of the greatest number. "We were 
struck with his reply. He said that " he rejoiced that 
his position was such as to enable him to mingle some- 
what in causes which he believed had a tendency to 
promote the welfare of the oppressed, the needy, and 
the suffering among*the family of man ; for," he con- 
tinued, " I am not one of those who believe it right, 
politic, or conducive to happiness, to live for self exclu- 
sively, or for this world alone." "Would that this 
noble sentiment were more generally cherished and 
acted upon. Would that the great body of the pros- 
perous and the affluent in pecuniary matters, would 
turn aside occasionally from the pursuit of Mammon, 
to mingle with the benevolent and the kind-hearted 
in their efforts to assist the suffering, to soothe the sor- 
rowful, and to promote the comforts, mental, moral, 
and physical, of the unfortunate, the misguided, and 
the erring classes of society. How high and holy are 
the consolations to be derived from such conduct, and 
how superior, when compared with the more merce- 
nary enjoyments of money-making! It is right and 

(in) 



112 THE RICH, AND THEIR OPPORTUNITIES. 

proper that our citizens should pay due attention to 
their particular pursuits and avocations — should avail 
themselves of all honest means of accumulating wealth 
— should provide abundantly for themselves and their 
families. But this is not the whole object of being. Other 
responsibilities are imposed upon us, and we have 
other duties to perform. Exactly in the degree that 
we prosper in worldly matters, should our benevolent 
disposition expand, and should we increase the amount 
of our alms-giving. Life, at best, is but a brief span. 
And yet to contemplate the hundreds and thousands 
who in all human probability are nearer the grave in 
point of years, than, looking back, they are to their 
advent, upon this busy scene, one would suppose that 
they anticipated immortality on earth — that they 
were accumulating, with the expectation of surviving 
for ages, and that the chief end of man was gold — ■ 
gold ! There are, in society, hundreds who have in- 
comes of thousands per annum, and yet who are so 
careless and indifferent to the responsibilities which 
such wealth entails, that they seldom give more than 
a mere trifle to relieve the wants of the poor, or to aid 
in any work of humanity, however meritorious and 
praiseworthy. Nay, not a week goes by, that the 
public journals do not chronicle the decease of some 
individual who, after a long life of economy, industry 
and accumulation, was compelled to leave this world 
and an immense fortune behind him, and who, never- 
theless, at the hour of death, was unable to turn to any 
abode of wretchedness and want that he had brighi- 
ened by his bounty, or to call up any act of generous 
charity which had characterized his career. His heart 
had been hardened against the appeals of the poor, 



THE RICH, AND THEIR OPPORTUNITIES. 113 

self had been his god, and clutching his gold with the 
grasp of tenacity, he had seen want and woe in many 
a sad form, misery and suffering in many a varied 
shape, but had been deaf and cold to the pleadings of 
the gentle monitors within. Oh! could he go back 
again ! Could he live over again a life that had been 
so misspent — could he embrace the opportunities that 
he had permitted to pass by neglected and unimproved 
— how eagerly would he act under the nobler and 
more generous impulses that he had disregarded! 
How many a widow's heart would he make to leap 
for joy ; how many an orphan's tear would he dry ; 
how many an aged pair would he comfort! And 
then the recollection of such conduct at his dying 
hour — the hopes that it would inspire as to the future 
— the calm with which he would soar into the myste- 
rious depths of another world — who, who that has the 
means — that has enough and to spare — that has been 
blessed by Providence with an abundance of this 
world's gifts — unless mad, blind, and sold, body and 
soul, to gold — would neglect the opportunity of acting 
with generous benevolence while here, and of thus 
brightening, not only the present, but gilding with the 
rosy light of hope and of heaven, the rising morning 
• of the future. The merchant was right. It is neither 
wise nor virtuous to live for self exclusively, and this 
world is, after all, but a preparation for another. 
Wealth is well enough in its way, and may be made 
the means, not only of contributing to the happiness 
of its possessor, but of relieving the woes and wants 
of the unfortunate and the suffering. When so used 
■ — when the prosperity of this world not only makes us 
grateful to the Almighty, but induces us to act out 



114 OCCUPATION. 

that gratitude in our intercourse with mankind, suc- 
cess in trade, in traffic, and in pecuniary matters, is 
indeed a blessing. But when the richer we become, 
we also become more heartless, reckless, and careless 
— when, forgetful of Providence, proud, hard-hearted, 
grinding, and grasping, we make a god of money — 
prosperity becomes a curse, and we prove ourselves 
unworthy recipients of the favors that have been so 
lavishly bestowed. 



(Dmipaiifltt; or, % Wm of a Cnto or 
^rofessom 

" Better than gold — he gave his son a trade." 

IT is said that, according to an ancient usage in 
Prussia, all the princes of the royal family must 
leakn A teade. The Prince Frederick William, 
who was recently married to the Princess Koyal of 
England, is a compositor, having acquired a knowl- 
edge of the art in a printing-office at Berlin. An 
excellent idea, and one that might be endorsed 
with advantage by thousands of indulgent parents, 
who have indolent or spoiled sons. There is nothing 
like A REGULAE occupation". It not only strengthens 
the morals, but it improves the mind. The habit of 
industry is, moreover, a constant source of pleasure. 
It engages and engrosses the faculties, and scares 
away despondency and despair. And yet, how many 
parents permit their children to grow up, without any 



OCCUPATION. 115 

positive means or mode of earning a living, and thus 
securing an honest independence ! This error prevails 
to a fearful extent in the United States. It may be 
attributed to one of three causes. Over-indulgence, 
want of reflection, or false pride. But the father who 
looks on with indifference, and sees a son growing up 
before his eyes an idler and a drone, not only fits him 
for a life of misery, but for one of crime. Better be 
any thing than nothing. No matter how humble the 
occupation, if it be reputable it constitutes a protection 
and a safeguard. It is impossible for every lad to 
become a great man, either in the pulpit, in medicine, 
or at the bar. The mistake with too many parents is, 
in supposing that their children are remarkably gifted, 
and that hence, any ordinary employment would be 
beneath their talents. The effect is to induce them to 
"become connected with a profession, for which they 
are totally unfitted. Far better this, however, than no 
employment at all. Everybody should learn some- 
thing. If a youth cannot become an eminent lawyer, 
he may distinguish himself in some useful art, and 
thus contribute, not only to his own welfare, but to 
the general advantage of society. A few days since, a 
gentleman in a neighboring city died, and left a large 
estate. He had three sons, to each of whom he be- 
queathed fifty thousand dollars. Two are to take 
possession of the principal within a twelvemonth, both 
being in active business, having, before they attained 
the years of manhood, acquired a regular occupation. 
But the third, and the favorite, can only receive the 
interest of his property during life, inasmuch as he 
was over-indulged and spoiled when a boy, became an 
idler, and addicted to habits of dissipation, and is, 
7 



116 OCCUPATION". 

therefore, unable to manage his own estate. How 
often do we see similar results under the like circum- 
stances ! Fond mothers are sometimes sadly culpable. 
They persuade themselves that some one among their 
offspring is too delicate for the ordinary purposes of 
life, and thus, if a boy, they prevent him from ming- 
ling and mixing with the world at large, and becoming 
subjected to the anxieties and responsibilities of busi- 
ness. This may do very well in mere childhood, and 
when surviving parents are able to watch, guard and 
protect. But, alas ! for the condition of a youth thus 
educated, when left to his own resources. He finds it 
impossible to struggle against the chances and changes 
that constantly take place, and too often yields to in- 
temperance and despair. There is, we repeat, nothing 
like a regular occupation. It should be regarded as 
one of the great essentials. If possible, let it be of a 
character to suit the mind and the disposition. There 
are some lads who, full of enthusiasm, activity and 
energjr, are fitted for almost any undertaking. No 
matter where they may be placed, they will wrestle, 
struggle and attain position and character. But there 
are others, again, who are timid by nature, who are 
nervous, sensitive and shrinking, and who should be 
trained and treated accordingly. We know of nothing 
more refreshing or more instructive than to attend 
one of the lectures of a leading Medical School of 
Philadelphia, and glance inquiringly at the faces and 
features of the students. These candidates for pro- 
fessional honors are from all parts of the Union, some 
being the sons of rich fathers, others the hopes of 
widowed mothers ; and others again, orphans, but full 
of ardor and ambition, and determined to win for 



CHARACTER. 117 

themselves reputation and fortune. The scene is well 
calculated to touch the heart and interest the mind. 
"Who may imagine the future destinies, so far as this 
world is concerned, of the hundreds who every year 
repair to this city, for the purpose of qualifying them- 
selves for one of the noblest and most responsible of 
avocations, A physician, too, is always useful. If 
he cannot succeed in his profession, he can readily 
turn his hand to something else. But a trade of some 
kind, a regular occupation, an acquired mode of ob- 
taining the means of subsistence, and securing social 
position and pecuniary independence, cannot be too 
earnestly urged. The usage in Prussia, to which we 
have called attention,, is, we repeat, an excellent one, 
and every way worthy of imitation and emulation. 



Character; m, feperieitte anb its fodjmgs, 



Be firm— be true— be resolute. 



THE changes of a single year are often extraordi- 
nary. They influence to a certain extent, every 
event of our future lives. This is especially the case 
with beginners, with those who are about to enter for 
the first time upon the arenas of commerce and trade, 
and to build up not only fortune, but character. 
The latter is far more important than the former. But 
this, we are sorry to say, is not the universal sentiment. 
Too many inculcate the doctrine — "Get money, hon- 
estly if you can, but by all means get money/" A 



118 CHARACTER. 

fearful error, and one that has made thousands of vio 
tims. Success through the agency of dishonesty, is 
rarely permanent. It is beset with temptations, and in 
the end deceives and betrays even itself. Such is the 
justice of Providence. The guilty rarely escape, even 
in this world ; and although conscience may become 
callous and seared, although an effort may be made to 
resist " the still, small voice," there are few who have 
not their hours of reflection, and who are not compelled 
at times, to ponder and shudder over their misdoings. 
Character, too, is like the down upon a peach. Once 
defaced or ruffled, it can never be fully restored. By 
character we mean not only integrity, truth and 
fair-dealing generally, but a constant exhibition of the 
kindly feelings, the generous impulses and the high- 
minded sentiments which are so essential to the honor- 
able and virtuous man. Let these be once secured, 
and it will be difficult for any adversity, however se- 
vere, to prove more than temporary. True, it occa- 
sionally happens that merit and probity, patience and 
perseverance, are permitted for a long period to exist 
and manifest themselves without an adequate reward. 
But sooner or later a recognition will take place. 
There are ministering angels abroad, agents and mis- 
sionaries — if we may so express the idea — who rarely 
suffer a case of general merit, unsullied truth and un- 
doubted fidelity, to sink into utter neglect, or to suffer 
continued privation. But these agents are not always 
at hand, and hence it is sometimes necessary to exer- 
cise faith and hope, even for years. In the end how- 
ever, if the good and the true be adhered to, all will 
be well. This, at least, is the doctrine, that we should 
believe and inculcate, for its effect must be salutary. 



CHARACTER. 119 

On the opening of a new year, therefore, a cheerful 
spirit should be indulged. If we have been unfortu- 
nate, and at the same time deserving, let us cherish the 
belief that we have suffered merely in the way of trial, 
with the objects at once of proving us, of affording us 
some experience of the vicissitudes of life, and in order 
that when better fortunes attend us, we shall be able 
properly to appreciate the blessing and control our- 
selves. No one, however, should give way to foolish 
fears and idle apprehensions. No one should yield to 
despondency, and fancy that for him there is no rich 
future. It seems to be one of the laws of Nature, that 
human beings should struggle for themselves. They 
should never give way to despair. To-day may be 
dark and boisterous; the outdoor world may be char- 
acterized by wind and storm, but to-morrow may be 
bright, sunny, and full of cheering influences. So too 
in the moral world. We know not what is best for us. 
No man can read the future. Even adversities are 
often blesmgs in disguise. They check, they restrain, 
they admonish and they teach. Who, indeed, cannot 
point to some fearful trial, some sore vexation, and 
yet with thankfulness at its correcting, controlling and 
salutary influence. While, therefore, we endeavor to 
deserve the brightest and the best, let us not suppose 
that momentary difficulties, or even a year's misfor- 
tunes, are not without their uses. Experience is a 
great matter, especially with the eager, the credulous, 
the impatient and the over sanguine. It is necessary 
sometimes, that these should be taught that the world 
is full of trial and tribulation — that life has its clouds 
as well as its sunshine, and that there is no such thing 
as unalloyed happiness on this side of the grave. Thus 



120 ENVY, RIVALRY, AND FALSE PRIDE. 

then, let us be admonished in a double sense. If we 
have been unfortunate, let us regard the lesson in a 
proper spirit, but push on boldly and cheerfully, al- 
ways striving to merit a happy condition of affairs. 
And if, on the other hand, we have been eminently 
prosperous, and are basking in the sunshine of success, 
let us not forget the fallibility of human nature, but be 
grateful, and at the same time prudent and calm. And 
in any event, let us endeavor to improve the opening 
year so that at its close, we shall feel that we have not 
lived idly, recklessly, improvidently or viciously — in 
other words, that we have not lived in vain. 



$1% ptafeg, axib Jak Jjrik 

"Base envy withers at another's j 07." 

THEEE are few persons, however blessed, who do 
not at times imagine themselves particularly un- 
fortunate, and envy the apparent contentment and 
prosperity of their neighbors. They know every thing 
in relation to themselves, the inner springs, the secret 
troubles, the private griefs, and they see only the outer 
surface, the apparent happiness of those around them, 
and hence they become dissatisfied, discontented, and 
envious. We are all too apt to misappreciate the bless- 
ings we possess, and to covet the property and pros- 
perity of our neighbors. If an individual be in the 
enjoyment of high health, abundant employment, and 



ENVY, RIVALRY, AND FALSE PRIDE. 121 

fair remuneration for his toil, he is sometimes disposed 
to forget these advantages, and to imagine that others 
with less merit or less industry, are advancing more 
rapidly on the road to wealth, while he is utterly un- 
mindful of thousands who are suffering by sickness, by 
want, or by misfortune. The feeling of envy is a con- 
stant source of anxiety and unhappiness. Nay, its 
fruits are ever bitter. In the effort to attract attention 
and provoke jealousy, how often do misguided indi- 
viduals indulge beyond their means, and step by step 
involve themselves in ruin. How many are at this 
moment basking in the sunshine of fashion, mingling 
with the gay, the giddy, and the frivolous, who can 
neither afford the time nor the money. The error of 
our modern system is extravagance. Palace-like edi- 
fices and magnificent furniture are required, not by 
the rich alone, by individuals who have incomes ex- 
tending to thousands, but by citizens who are just 
starting in life, who have a fair and promising busi- 
ness for the present, but no security for the future. 
They are tempted to this mad course by a spirit of 
rivalry and the passion of envy. Some of their friends 
and neighbors are able to live and shine in the manner 
described, and they venture to imitate them, but at a 
truly fearful risk. And when, too, the step has once 
been taken, how difficult it is to retrace it ! Common 
sense and better reason may dictate such a course, but 
false pride advises another, and thus the evil day is 
postponed, the work of retrenchment and reform is 
procrastinated, until at last it is too late to attempt it 
with effect. The hollow game is played out, until 
bankruptcy and ruin are the sad consequences. There 
are some individuals so constituted that they are 



122 ENVY, RIVALRY, AND FALSE PRIDE. 

always unhappy, not because they are unfortunate or 
in want, not that they are sick or suffering, but sim- 
ply that they cannot look with cheerful eyes upon the 
gay and animated world around them, and are con- 
stantly sighing after forbidden fruit, or yearning for 
the fancied enjoyments of others. The success of an 
acquaintance, instead of being a source of pleasure, is 
a cause of mortification and pain. Even the laugh of 
a child grates harshly upon their ears. They have 
become moody, morbid, and selfish, and hence derive 
no satisfaction from the happiness of others. Such dis- 
contented spirits are to be pitied as well as despised. 
They are their own worst enemies. Their hearts are 
filled with bitterness and envy, instead of generosity 
and the milk of human kindness. They are apt, too, 
to seek every opportunity to underrate, disparage, 
and villify. The dark side of a story is with them 
seized with avidity. They are always disposed to be- 
lieve the worst, and to give the unkindest representa- 
tion. To a certain extent, they are unconscious of the 
influence which the habit or infirmity has acquired 
over them. "Nay, they mistake for stern sincerity and 
unwavering truth, a disposition to be harsh, unkind, 
and morose. In what striking contrast is the gentle 
and generous spirit, the being who delights in doing 
good, who rejoices at the happiness of others, is ever 
ready to assist the deserving, and to lend a helping 
hand to all who are in distress. The doctrine we de- 
sire to inculcate is, that if favored by Providence with 
many blessings, we should manifest a sense of grati- 
tude and of duty, by remembering and assisting the 
less fortunate, rather than by imitating the folly or 
coveting the means of those who have accumulated 



ENVY, RIVALRY, AND FALSE PRIDE. 123 

large fortunes. We should remember, moreover, that 
wealth does not always bring happiness — that health 
is a blessing which is priceless in its character — and 
that there is scarcely a family or a household in the 
world that is not darkened by some sorrow, or pained 
by some misfortune. At all events, let us strive to 
deserve, and if we cannot assist our fellow-creatures — 
let us at least avoid all unkindness, all calumny, all 
envy that may seem calculated to annoy and pain 
them. There are few indeed, who have the time and 
the disposition to hunt out, magnify, and give publi- 
city to the errors and infirmities of their neighbors, 
who will not discover, sooner or later, that they them- 
selves are imperfect, and require the exercise toward 
them, of a liberal and indulgent judgment. There are 
few again on the other hand, who, with all their facul- 
ties in full play, and with the means of contentment 
and comfort in their power, who would not hesitate to 
exchange places with the hundreds of the needy, the 
languishing, the unfortunate, and the suffering, to be 
found in every thickly populated community. The 
duty of every individual, however, is relative, and the 
abundantly prosperous should act accordingly. He 
is indeed false to his position and to his responsibility, 
who, eminently favored by Providence in any sense, 
does not manifest his sense of gratitude in a spirit at 
once of generosity and humanity. 



" Lead us not into temptation." 

IT is quite a common thing for honest-minded, frank- 
hearted, but somewhat ambitious country farmers, 
to send their young sons to the city to be educated, or 
to acquire a knowledge of business, but without sub- 
jecting them at the same time to the kindly and con- 
stant guardianship of some intelligent relative or 
friend. This is a sad mistake, and it often leads to the 
most deplorable consequences. The temptations of 
city life are many and various. They present them- 
selves in a thousand forms, some of which are of the 
most seductive character. The moral restraint neces- 
sary to resist them must be of no ordinary kind, and 
it can scarcely be looked for in the inexperienced and 
the young. And when once the path of error is entered 
upon, and an evil habit is resorted to, it is difficult in- 
deed to retrace the footsteps. Perhaps the most pow- 
erful temptation to the gentler sex is dress. It bewil- 
ders, intoxicates, fascinates and often leads to ruin. 
This is especially the case in this country, where 
the mistress and maid vie with each other in adorning 
their persons, where the classes are not distinctly 
marked, and where respectability is often measured by 
the apparel. Dress, indeed, forms the leading topic 
in almost every female circle, and may be said to con- 
stitute the passion of the sex. But with young men 
there are many more temptations. In the first place 
(124) ' 



PARENTS AND CHILDREN. 125 

they are nearly all taught to live beyond their means. 
They learn to smoke when they are mere boys, not a 
few chew the narcotic weed, while drink in its vari- 
ous forms, is deemed by a great majority as a matter 
of course. The wonder is, not that a few fall under 
these circumstances, but that so many escape the 
shoals and quicksands of city life. The lessons of self 
restraint cannot be inculcated too early. Moral and 
religious precepts and principles should be constantly 
instilled. But more than all, some regular habit or 
industry, some visible mode of livelihood, should be 
considered as essential. Idleness is the parent of many 
vices, and it is especially so in great cities. Another 
and a fearful evil which prevails, is the existence of 
clubs or private gaming houses. These are every way 
fascinating, and while they are managed in compara- 
tive secrecy, they win away the young, the excitable 
and the unsuspicious, until ruin stares them in the face. 
The country is exempt from these subtle dens of in- 
iquity. At first, the unsophisticated youth is induced 
to visit one of these resorts from mere curiosity. He 
is then stimulated, induced to play for a trifle, and 
whether he win or lose, the excitement seizes upon his 
mind, and the chances are that he will return again and 
again. Those who have no passion for gaming, and 
who have never indulged in it in its many forms, can 
have no adequate idea of the power of its temptation ! 
We some days since conversed with a gentleman of this 
city, who, from the force of habit and in consequence 
of a peculiar infirmity, is compelled to resort to card- 
playing occasionally to pass his evening hours. He 
has outlived all excitement upon the subject, plays 
mechanically, and never risks a farthing. But he in- 



126 PARENTS AND CHILDREN. 

forms us that he has seen some terrible cases, — cases 
in which not only the young, but the old, have been 
decoyed step by step, until they became infatuated, 
mad, and, at last, utterly bankrupt. The arts of a 
finished gambler consist of coolness, caution, courtesy, 
and a peculiar adaptation to character. And thus it is 
that the young and credulous, who fall into their 
hands, have but a narrow chance of escape indeed. 
In the humbler classes, and among the younger 
mechanics, associations of various kinds, and all of an 
apparently useful or benevolent object, are often full 
of danger. Thousands have been ruined in this way. 
Evil habits have been formed, ruffianism has been 
taught, and terrible results have been produced. Nay, 
it is almost impossible for the most vigilant to watch, 
guard, restrain and protect youth in a great city. It 
is difficult to have an eye upon them at all times; 
while temptations may be said to be in every path. 
The young, too, are impulsive, reckless and easily de- 
ceived ; and thus they are readily led astray. Hence 
every effort should be made to direct their thoughts, 
tastes, and habits into proper channels. They should 
be afforded opportunities of proper enjoyment, of a 
character to interest their minds and touch their hearts, 
and at the same time to yield rational recreation. The 
mistake of too many parents is, that they do not min- 
gle sufficiently with their children. They keep them 
at a distance, and thus lose and impair their confidence 
and chill their sympathies. It is indeed a rare thing 
to find fathers and sons mingling together, and parti- 
cipating in the same scenes and enjoyments. Some 
allowance should of course be made for age and habit, 
but there are times and seasons when friendly com- 



ANONYMOUS LETTEK WKITING. 127 

munion would be found mutually advantageous, when 
the ties of consanguinity would be strengthened, when 
confidence would be revived and deepened, and the 
hearts of both parties would be made to kindle and 
glow toward each other. Youth, we repeat, is beset 
with a thousand temptations, especially in a great city 
like this, and while every possible restraint should be 
imposed, a spirit of forbearance, generosity, kindness 
and consideration should always be exercised. The 
father, moreover, who plays the domestic despot ; who 
avoids, neglects and drives his son from him, assumes 
a fearful responsibility, and one that will return to 
him some day in bitterness and sorrow. 



mb €£m> 

" The vile — the base — the treacherous." 

WE are sorry to learn that cases of anonymous 
letter- writing continue to occur, and with ob- 
jects of the most malevolent nature. The practice is 
at once cowardly and criminal, and it cannot be de- 
nounced with too much severity. An individual who 
can coolly sit down and prepare a letter, half truth 
and half falsehood, or wholly the latter, with the ob- 
ject of disturbing the peace of a family, of exciting 
suspicion and distrust, and thus causing pain or an- 
noyance, must be dead to every honorable impulse, 
and capable, were he assured of escape, of stabbing in 



128 ANXMNYMOUS LETTER WHITING. 

the dark and taking even life itself. This may seem 
strong language, but it is every way applicable. The 
anonymous letter-writer is among the meanest, the 
vilest, the most degraded of God's creatures. We 
have heard of frightful cases — cases where the habit 
has been persevered in for years, and with a sys- 
tem and malice almost incredible. The offender has 
watched his victim with stealthy vigilance, has tracked 
him from step to step, has pointed out and exagger- 
ated his trifling errors, and nearly maddened him. 
Unfortunately, too, innocent persons are apt to be 
suspected, and a man becomes afraid even of his own 
friends and associates. We are not aware that any 
especial law exists upon the subject, inflicting the 
severest punishment, but a restriction of the kind 
should certainly be enacted. It sometimes happens 
that this description of crime, for thus it should be 
designated, is resorted to in jest. A sad error — and one 
that is often attended with deplorable consequences. 
A friend may be thus lost for life, and bitterness and 
ill-will engendered, for which no satisfactory atone- 
ment can *be made. A few years since, an individual 
who occupied a high position as an officer of a rich 
corporation, gave some unintentional offense to a sub- 
ordinate, whereupon the latter, in a spirit of revenge, 
assailed the other in a most fearful manner by anony- 
mous letters. But, fortunately, the miscreant was dis- 
covered and adequately punished. Instead of pro- 
voking the dismissal of the individual assailed, as he 
had hoped, he was himself discharged, and with such 
a character that he did not recover from the blow for 
years. Thus the bitter cup, which he had prepared 
for the lips of another he was compelled himself to 



ANONYMOUS LETTER WRITING. 129 

drink. In England, it is now a crime to write letters 
threatening legal proceedings, even for a just cause, 
where it can be inferred that the object is to obtain 
money. The principle is a correct one. All efforts 
of the kind should be discountenanced, and by legal 
enactment. The system of extorting money by threats 
and false charges, is carried on to a far greater extent 
than most persons imagine ; and the error is, that the 
individuals so threatened lack the moral nerve to 
resist, fearful of exposure. Hence, they submit to the 
first threat, and then, having committed themselves, 
they are often preyed upon for years. Against anony- 
mous letters, however, there is no protection. Their 
authors are concealed, and they strike in the dark. 
They venture to mingle just enough truth with the 
falsehood to give a probability to their slanders, and 
hence to make the poison effective. Alas ! for the 
misery that has been caused in this way. How many 
hearts have been estranged ; how many friendships 
have been severed; how many hopes have been 
blighted, and how much bitterness and anguish have 
been produced ! There is little worth living for in 
this world, with confidence between man and wife 
and friend and friend, destroyed. And yet this con- 
fidence is a sentiment of the utmost delicacy, which 
the slightest whisper may impair. Nay, the very re- 
petition of a statement in exaggerated terms, or the 
insinuation of a doubt or distrust, will, under peculiar 
circumstances, work infinite mischief. All, moreover, 
are at times thoughtless and indiscreet. There are 
few who have a constant watch and guard upon their 
lips and their looks. If, therefore, a remark be rashly 
made, and repeated in a malignant spirit, the whole 



130 LIFE AND ITS ANXIETIES. 

meaning and motive may be changed, and what wag 
intended in jest, or without any desire to injure, may 
be distorted into a treachery, or a violation of friend- 
ship. If, too, an indiscretion of this kind be seized 
upon by some anonymous scribbler, the effect is to 
annoy, perplex and agitate. The habit, we repeat, is 
a base one, and it should be carefully avoided. We 
verily believe that many a life has been sacrificed 
through its agency. There are some persons who are 
constituted so delicately and nervously, that a barbed 
arrow of this description, even from an anonymous 
source, wounds and rankles in the heart for years. 
If, too, the suspicion be that it came from a pretended 
friend or a daily associate, the pang is only the more 
poignant. In brief, the anonymous letter-writer with 
a vicious motive, is a disgrace to the human family, a 
serpent-like enemy to whatever social or domestic cir- 
cle he may belong. He should, when detected, be 
shunned as a moral pestilence. 



lift anh its %mxtfm ; or, I ftmg tra Jut 

" And life has many deep anxieties." 

IT HAS been contended by high authority, " that 
few men die of age, and that almost all are victims 
of disappointment, passional, or mental, or bodily toil, 
or of accident." This may not be true to the full ex- 
tent,, but it is measurably so. A large portion of 
mankind wear themselves out by unnecessary excite- 



LIFE AND ITS ANXIETIES. 131 

ment. They fret, fume and vex, and absolutely shorten 
their days. They strain the human machine, until its 
cords sna]f*and break. They overtask the intellectual 
faculties, until at last they falter and fail. And thus 
it is that moral suicide is committed. 

The study of life, and the best means of prolonging 
it, are not sufficiently attended to. A large portion 
of the human family are too impulsive. They are 
nervous, restless, feverish, and excited. They cannot 
wait for the ordinary progress of events. They rush 
on recklessly and impatiently, become anxious and 
eager, and thus they lose, not only the balance of 
mind, but the absolute control of the physical man. 
This is especially the case in this country, and hence, 
as compared with some portions of the old world, our 
average duration of life is quite limited. Thousands, 
we repeat, perish every year, through feverish anxiety 
and unnecessary excitement. They are not disposed 
to be calm, patient, and resolute, and to pursue an 
even and correct course ; but they seek to accomplish 
a certain end by a sudden movement — by some coup 
cCetat, so to speak. They are not satisfied with ascend- 
ing the ladder of fame or fortune, step by step, but 
bound upward, three or four rounds at a time, and 
thus they often lose their grasp or foothold, and are 
dashed to the earth. 

Life, even to the best regulated of disposition and 
of mental control, is sufficiently full of shoals, quick- 
sands and anxieties. Sickness, casualty and death lurk 
in a thousand forms. These often assume the mask 
of pleasure, and thus tempt to destruction. The fair 
girl who nightly mingles in a round of fashion, and 
retires to her couch long after the morning has com- 
8 



132 LIFE AND ITS ANXIETIES. 

menced, absolutely invites consumption and an early- 
grave. So, too, even the robust man, who trifles with 
health, mocks at exposure, and fancies that all man- 
kind are mortal but himself. And so, likewise, the 
merchant, the trader, the physician, and the attorney, 
who overtask their powers, who permit their minds to 
be constantly absorbed by some exciting topic, who 
test and strain their intellectual faculties, and by living 
in and laboring under constant anxieties, impair and 
exhaust the very sources of existence, not only mental 
but physical. 

The truth simply is, that we are a fast people. We 
are by far too eager and impulsive, and would accom- 
plish in a day the work of a year. Our young men 
are taught to indulge in visionary speculations, to be- 
lieve in a thousand improbabilities, and thus to pro- 
voke and encounter bitter, depressing and overwhelm- 
ing disappointments. This was not the case in the 
olden time. Our fathers were satisfied with a moderate 
portion of the good things of this life. They were 
contented with their lot. But not so their children. 
Their expectations are unreasonable, and hence their 
anxieties are keen, deep and restless. Life — physical 
life — and mental equanimity, are not adequately 
appreciated. 

It has been well said that " man, of all the animals, 
is one that seldom comes up to his average. He ought 
to live a hundred years, according to the natural law, 
but he rarely reaches eighty. The reason is obvious- 
Man is not only the most irregular and the most in- 
temperate, but he is the most laborious and hard 
worked of all the animals. He is also the most irri- 
table, and there is reason to believe, though we cannot 



LIFE AND ITS ANXIETIES. 133 

tell what an animal secretly feels, that man more than 
any other animal ; cherishes his wrath to keep it warm, 
and consumes himself with the fire of his own secret 
reflection." In brief, we attempt too much — we aim 
beyond our efforts — we forget our fallibility, and thus 
we often fall by the wayside, before the race is accom- 
plished or the goal won. 

A work recently published, entitled, " Dreams and 
Eealities in the Life of a Pastor and Teacher," gives a 
picture of the hero, Castlereagh, as that of one who 
had attempted too much, and finally broke down 
under the burthen. " And yet," continues the author, 
" who is he that escapes without burning his fingers 
badly from fires like these? Castlereagh, while all 
was increasingly prosperous in outward respects — 
society, school, and family — was breaking down under 

a burden such as consigned W to an early grave 

— that sapped the vigor of D 's manhood, that 

drove Gr — — , the talented and eloquent, to the verge 
of madness. A man may be a minister, a teacher, a 
lawyer, a merchant, a mechanic, an editor, a doctor, a 
farmer, and succeed; but make him all these, and 
he will have in the same fire far too many irons. 
Without knowing it fully, Castlereagh was carrying 
on his mind too many heavy loads, and his strength 
was tasked to the highest when others thought he 
might be at rest. There was for him no rest. Every 
moment not claimed by his society was claimed by 
the school; and what was not employed there, was 
sure to be in the family. Driven on by these great 
divisions of the army of duty, happiness, health, and 
even life itself were imperiled. Before fully aware of 
it, his nervous system became improperly and danger- 



134 LIFE AND ITS ANXIETIES. 

ously excited, a cold was followed by a cough. The 
warm suns of June did not, neither did those of July f 
relieve. Castlereagh, who had scarcely known a sick 
day in his life, began to feel unwell, and apprehended 
that he had gone too far. Yet who can immediately 
stop in a career of life, involving all one's capital, all 
one's plans, all relations to the community around 
him? Nay, who but hopes yet to overcome his 
present embarrassments and again go forward to the 
attainment of complete success? So, between hope 
and distrust, one still struggles, and his bark, strained 
and quivering from mast-head to keel, is at last 

" cast out on desert shore, 
***** there left to rot 
And moulder in the winds and rains of heaven." 

And this is the case of thousands. We overtask 
our strength, assume fearful resposibilities, and nurse 
consuming anxieties. Many fancy that they must be 
here, there and everywhere, that no work can get on 
without them, that their counsel, their efforts, and 
their direct interference, are absolutely essential. And 
thus they toil on from day to day, and from year to 
year, until at last the delusion and the error are dis- 
pelled, by realizing the startling fact, that they too are 
fallible, and that the physical or mental man has given 
way, before unnecessarily assumed responsibilities and 
anxieties. Then comes the hour of self-reproach, of 
regret and penitence. But, alas ! who shall bring back 
the rosy hue of health to the cheek of the consumptive, 
impart fresh strength to the tottering step of premature 
age, or re- illumine the flickering and fading light of 
intellect ? 



% \t little leateies of fife. 

"The very virtues of his dearest friends 
"Were doubted or assailed." 

THEBB is scarcely a social circle that is not ocwi- 
sionally annoyed by miserable little jealousies. 
The general harmony is thus disturbed, bitterness of 
feeling is engendered, estrangements take place, and 
enmities are fomented. The grounds, too, in many 
cases, are trifling, insignificant, and utterly unworthy 
of serious consideration. Some slight offence is given, 
unintentionally, perhaps, in the first place ; this is at- 
tributed to an assumption of superiority, and a mis- 
understanding ensues, and thus the breach, so inno- 
cently caused, is gradually widened, until old friends 
and early associates look upon each other with indif- 
ference and dislike. A gentleman informed us, a short 
time since, that he had committed an unpardonable 
offence, by accidentally neglecting to invite three or 
four friends, who are greatly esteemed by him, to a 
small social party. He meant nothing unkind or dis- 
courteous, and, in fact, never gave the matter a 
moment s serious consideration. But he soon discov- 
ered a change in their manner, and, on learning the 
cause, endeavored to apologize and explain. But all 
to no purpose. The slight was regarded as an insult, 
and it was resented accordingly. Nay, so deeply did 
it rankle, that soon after one of the offended individ- 
uals gave a large and brilliant dinner-party, to which 

(135) 



136 THE LITTLE JEALOUSIES OF LIFE. 

he invited all his friends and intimate acquaintances 
with the exception of the individual above referred to, 
who was overlooked, as we may infer, in retaliation, 
retribution, and revenge. On another occasion, a 
citizen of some distinction deemed it expedient to cele- 
brate an event connected with his business, and in so 
doing he confined his invitations to such persons as 
were immediately associated in kindred avocations. 
But this was not understood by many others, and the 
effect for a time was to give him infinite pain, for he 
saw that he had inadvertently offended some of his 
best friends. He endeavored to correct the error, by 
giving another festival, and making the invitations as 
general as possible. But even this expedient failed to 
satisfy some. They denounced him as an upstart and 
an adventurer, and treated him accordingly. It must 
be confessed that the policy which is adopted by some 
persons of assuming two characters, one cordial and 
friendly at certain times, and another cold and repul- 
sive at others, is by no means creditable. We are no 
surprised, therefore, that indignation should occasion- 
ally be felt at such pretensions and assumptions in 
social life, especially when the parties who are slighted 
are equally reputable. True, the proper plan is to 
treat all such manifestations with contempt, for they 
indicate either a narrow spirit or a little mind. The 
airs which inflated and supercilious people assume, 
are indeed ridiculous. 

And yet there are weak-minded individuals in the 
world, who do not hesitate to make many sacrifices — 
sacrifices of old friends, tried companions, and kindly 
feelings, with the object of creeping into some fashion- 
able circle. Others bow down to wealth, without re- 






THE LITTLE JEALOUSIES OF LIFE. 137 

gard to consistency of character. Not long since, a 
lady was complaining to her daughter, because she did 
not call more frequently upon a certain acquaintance. 
The daughter, who was innocent and guileless, ex- 
plained by observing that they had never been very 
intimate. The mother rejoined, that circumstances 
had altered, for " Mr. D. had not only moved into a 
splendid mansion at the west end, but he had bought a 
carriage and horses /" The same principle, so hollow 
and hypocritical, is inculcated in a thousand forms. 
Too many live, not for themselves, for truth, for in- 
tegrity, for sincerity, and the sweet amenities of life, 
but for the mockeries of fashion, and the petty vanities 
and rivalries that characterize particular circles of 
society. The little jealousies of life are manifested in 
various ways. They produce slander, falsehood, ma- 
lignity, and bitterness of heart. With some the pros- 
perity of another is a source of annoyance and pain, 
And thus character is attacked and virtue is under- 
rated. Not satisfied with the blessings of Providence, 
with high health, vigorous faculties, and buoyant for- 
tune, a disposition is constantly manifested to dete- 
riorate and villify, and every opportunity is seized 
with the object of giving utterance to some harsh sen- 
timent, some mean prejudice, or some vile slander. 
Alas ! for these narrow envies ! They embitter feel- 
ings, injure character, inflame passion, and are pro- 
ductive in every sense, of misery and evil. 



%\t CJttrfnl soft % iloomg. 

" Her presence, like a beam of love, 
Mellowed and brightened all !" 

THEEE are some persons who are always complain- 
ing. The j are miserable and unhappy through- 
out the year, or at least they seem to be. The world 
is constantly at fault with them, and they rarely smile. 
Address them with the ordinary compliments of the 
day, and they are sure to find something to grumble 
at. The weather is never of the right kind. It is too 
hot or too cold, too wet or too dry ; and thus they 
move on among their fellow-creatures, as a sort of per- 
sonified chill. Their very appearance casts a shadow- 
like gloom over all around and about them. At 
home their meals are badly cooked, the servants are 
neglectful, and the children noisy and disobedient. 
Nothing goes on as it should. Every thing has a 
drawback. Grayety is denounced as boisterousness, 
and a laugh is treated as a vulgarity. The poor wife, 
however obedient, is complained of, while if she should 
be so unfortunate as to commit an error, it is magni 
lied into a crime. 

These gloomy persons are never in good health 
They are always troubled with some ache or pain. 
They are born to be miserable. At least they so con- 
tend, and they often make themselves unhappy with- 
out the slightest cause. Life to them is a curse instead 
of a blessing. They will not or they cannot appre- 
(138) 



THE CHEERFUL AND THE GLOOMY. 139 

ciate the beneficence of Providence. If in narrow cir- 
cumstances, the j regard themselves as among the most 
unfortunate of mankind ; and if in the enjoyment of 
abundant wealth, they become nervous, restless and 
anxious lest the golden prize should slip from their 
hands. Too much property they regard as a care and 
an incumbrance. And yet they are eager for the ac- 
cumulation of more. They are not satisfied with 
themselves, and are at the same time envious and 
jealous of the rest of mankind. They look through 
jaundiced eyes, and are the victims of a discontented 
mind. The curse is within. It is in the temper or 
heart. Alas! for these wretched grumblers — these 
miserable monomaniacs. They do not deserve the 
blessing of God's sunshine, the pure air, and the clear 
light of heaven, for they are ungrateful, insensible and 
unappreciating. They have no thought for others. 
Self is the absorbing idea; and thus the poor may 
shiver in the shade, or languish on a bed of sickness, 
without exciting in their bosoms even a momentary 
sympathy ! 

How beautiful, in contrast, is the cheerful, the buoy- 
ant, and the bounding spirit. Life is to such all 
couleur de rose. Every new scene has a charm, every 
fresh incident an interest. The clouds of to-day are 
regarded as passing clouds, and sunshine is looked for 
on the morrow. A kind word is ever on the lips, a 
gentle thought is ever in the heart, a pleasant smile is 
ever in the countenance. To say a clever thing, or to 
do a good turn, is deemed a pleasure. Friendship is 
treasured as one of the brightest jewels of the human 
soul, and love, in all its richness and truth, fidelity 
and warmth, is regarded as an emanation f rom tke 



140 THE CHEERFUL AND THE GLOOMY. 






"Divine Being himself. Life is full of hope and prom- 
ise ; and even the mishaps and misfortunes to which 
all are more or less liable, are viewed in the true 
spirit of philosophy, as intended to chasten, to res- 
train, to keep us within moderate bounds, and to 
remind us of our dependence upon Providence. The 
presence of the cheerful in spirit acts like a beam of 
sunshine to the social circle. It warms and brightens. 
It softens and subdues. The quality is a happy one 
in every condition of life. But it is especially so 
among friends and associates, and with those who 
have pledged themselves for weal or for woe. Imagine 
the household that is presided over by a spirit of dis- 
content, disquiet, dissatisfaction and gloom. The effect 
cannot be but disheartening and chilling. Nay, one 
result inevitably is to make that home deserted. The 
cheerfulness that cannot be found there will be sought 
elsewhere. The complaints that are uttered again 
and again, at last become painful, and are avoided. 
Cheerfulness we regard as one of the essentials of 
domestic life. It should be cultivated with constant 
assiduity. Without it, fretfulness, peevishness, anx- 
iety, and collision are almost inevitable. All who 
have determined, by choice, or who are forced by cir- 
cumstances, to mingle together freely and frequently, 
to occupy hours and days in each other's society, 
should not permit themselves to give way to discon- 
tent, dissatisfaction, fretfulness, and complaint. A 
sunny smile of welcome has touched and won many 
an obdurate heart. A kind word and a genial look, 
together with a cheerful temper, will, in the end, 
prove irresistible. At least this is our doctrine, and 
we bespeak for it a fair trial. 



fnbkretioir; or, % (&mai of Haste. 

" The rash of speech, 
The thoughtless and the harsh." 

THEEB are very few individuals who have not 
suffered severely at times, in consequence of 
haste or precipitation. Even the wisest occasionally 
forget themselves and act rashly. It is impossible to 
be ever watchful, ever vigilant, ever thoughtful, con- 
siderate and prudent. A word fitly spoken, has a 
magic and a charm that at once soothes and conciliates. 
But a word unfitly spoken, especially if harsh, sharp, 
or irritating, will sometimes inflict a wound that can- 
not be wholly healed for years. The errors of 
haste are countless, and they are committed daily 
and hourly. All are more or less forgetful in this 
respect. The impulsive are especially so. They act 
first and think afterward; and not unfrequently the 
after thought is full of bitterness, regret, and self-re- 
pioach. The difficulty, then, is to make amendment 
or reparation. Duty recommends a frank, manly, and 
straightforward course — an explanation or an apology. 
But false pride counsels equi vocation, prevarication, 
or adherence to the error, and if this advice be taken, 
as it too often is, the consequences are always painful. 
It is, moreover, such an easy thing to atone for an un- 
intentional misstep, a false impression or a hasty re- 
mark, that the surprise is, that any neglect or avoid 
the discharge of so solemn a duty. How many friend- 

(141) 



142 INDISCRETION. 

ships have been broken, how many fond ties have 
been severed, how many hearts have been lacerated 
through errors of haste and indiscretion ! The thought- 
less and the reckless are constantly committing ■ blun- 
ders of this description. They talk at random, with- 
out reflection, consideration or feeling, and are ever 
and anon surprised, when they discover that they have 
that they never discover their error. The injury is 
received in silence, but it is not forgotten. At times, 
ceived in silence, but it is not forgotten. At times, 
too, their explanations only make the matter worse, 
because out of place, or in bad taste. And, again, 
they persist in a misrepresentation or an insult, and 
thus they are either treated with contempt, as vile and 
base, or they are punished in some suitable manner. 
"With the young and inexperienced, errors of haste 
are of course natural, and some allowance should be 
made. They proceed from a want of judgment, igno- 
rance of the world, and impetuosity of disposition. 
But even under such circumstances, the true policy 
of the frank and the manly, is to explain fully and 
generously at the first opportunity. Accounts of this 
kind should never be left unsettled. Better arrange 
them at once, and in the right spirit, than permit an 
accumulation of interest, and thus an increase of the 
indebtedness. There are some persons we are aware, 
who fancy that there is dishonor or indignity in making 
an apology, even when they have unwittingly done 
wrong. This, as it strikes us, is a sad mistake, not 
only of judgment, but of morals. All are mortal, and 
all are, therefore, liable to commit indiscretions, and 
indulge in infirmities. But the error should be cor 
rected as speedily as possible, and thus the sin purged 



INDISCRETION. 143 

from the conscience. He is indeed blind, perverse 
and bigoted, who does wrong, and then persists in it 
because lie fancies that there would be humiliation in 
acknowledging and taking back the offence. We 
fully agree with an ancient philosopher, who contended 
that, after the man who never had sinned, he should 
be held in the highest esteem who was the readiest to 
apologize, on being satisfied that he had committed an 
offence. If this doctrine were generally received and 
acted upon, mankind would get along much more 
smoothly, quietly and happily. The quick in temper, 
the fiery of blood, and the impatient of spirit, are con- 
stantly committing errors of haste. Most of these, 
however, are quite as ready to make an atonement, 
and it is well that it is so. They are known, their in- 
firmity is recognized, and thus all allowance is made 
for their inconsiderate conduct and expressions. They 
are precipitate by nature, and to some extent they 
cannot help themselves. But if they are the first to 
say a harsh thing, they are also the first to recall it ; 
and thus the error is speedily repaired. And this is 
the true policy. It should be universally inculcated 
and practiced. Let us endeavor to do unto others, as 
we would they should do unto us. And surely, let us 
not perpetrate the folly, nay the outrage of committing 
a wrong, and then add insult to injury, by adhering 
to the act of injustice from obstinacy or false pride. 
There is, we repeat, scarcely an individual alive, who 
has attained to years of reflection, who has not com- 
mitted errors of haste. Nay, there are few who can- 
not recall many with mortification and regret. We 
either perpetrate them, or we see them perpetrated 
every day. Indiscretion to some extent, is an almost 



144: THE ERRING. 

universal failing. And while this is conceded, while 
we feel that we cannot have constant watch and guard 
over our minds, our passions, and our tongues, let us 
at least be ready to make amendment, generous and 
ample, at the very first opportunity. There is nothing 
mean or unmanly in such a course; but, on the con 
trary, it is right, high-minded, becoming, and honor- 
able. The sensible merchant or man of business re- 
views his pecuniary accounts daily. Why then should 
we not, in the same spirit of prudence and integrity, 
and at the first seasonable moment, consider and 
adjust all violations of taste, courtesy, morals and 
propriety ! 



Crattg; or, Crime, fa €mm> anb fa 



" We do pray for mercy ! 
And that same prayer doth teach us all to render 
The deeds of mercy." 

WE notice with pleasure, that of late years a truly 
enlightened policy has been adopted in most 
of the leading penal institutions of the land. In the 
first place, great pains are taken to win the misguided 
from the error of their ways, and in the second, an ef- 
fort is made to discover the real cause of crime, and 
thus, if possible, to provide a remedy. In the olden 
time, the convict was dealt with harshly. He was re- 
garded as an outcast from society, as hardened in 
iniquity, and almost incapable of amendment, or re- 



THE ERRING. 145 

form. The voice of kindness was seldom addressed to 
him; he was often compelled, by the severest punish- 
ment, to fulfill his daily task, and thus at the expiration 
of his sentence, he entered the world again, dogged in 
spirit, revengeful in disposition, and determined to 
strike back again at society at large. The result was, 
that he was soon again convicted, and was then dealt 
with more severely than ever. 

But a better, a milder, a more humane system now 
prevails. At the latter part of the last century, " the 
Philadelphia Society for Alleviating the Miseries of 
Public Prisons," was founded, and ever since, its mem- 
bers have devoted themselves to the moral and mental 
improvement of the erring, and often, as we learn from 
the official records, with the fullest success. The In- 
spectors of the "Eastern Penitentiary of Pennsyl- 
vania," state, in their last Eeport, that " no one who 
has not witnessed the effect of the discipline which 
rests on kindness toward the convict, and a desire for 
his reform, can fully appreciate the humanizing ten- 
dencies of its operation. Thus, during the past year, 
with four hundred and sixteen inmates in prison, but 
fifteen cases of punishment occurred." "Nay," con- 
tinue the Inspectors, " so little need exists for harsh- 
ness, that it may be said to be unknown in our 
administration." This is indeed gratifying, and it speaks 
trumpet -tongued as to the beneficent influence of the 
kindness. This, too, be it remembered, within the 
walls of a Penitentiary, and among convicted felons 
of all varieties. What an admonition is here con- 
veyed ! 

Surely, in our daily intercourse with our fellow- 
creatures, a similar policy might be adopted, and with 



1 *6 THE ERRING. 

advantage. Another portion of the report alludes to 
the social relations, and the moral condition of the in- 
mates. From this we learn, that the temptations to 
crime were "bad company," "revenge," "intemper 
ance," "shame," "paternal example," "domestic afflic- 
tion," "extravagance," and "acquisitiveness." The 
cases were rare where any settled or fixed determina- 
tion to commit evil was discovered. Thus, even 
among these, "the vilest of the vile," the victims were 
misled, and might, by proper training, have been saved. 
This condition of affairs should be considered in a 
thoughtful and forgiving spirit. Wo human being, 
however elevated his position, can conceive what he 
would have become, had he been deprived in early 
life, of parental care, proper training, moral culture, 
and intellectual improvement. While, therefore, it is 
essential for the protection of society, that offenders of 
all grades should be adequately punished, the true 
duty of the philanthropist is to make generous allow- 
ances, not only for the temptations, but for the lia- 
bility to embrace them, and to act accordingly. 

The force and influence of education cannot be too 
highly estimated. It is stated that "of the one hun- 
dred and forty-six convicts who were committed to 
the Eastern Penitentiary last year, only seven could 
be regarded as having a good English education ; while 
thirty-eight of the aggregate were minors." These 
facts are at once telling and impressive, and they show 
in the most conclusive manner the necessity of mental 
cultivation. This, in connection with moral training, 
cannot be too earnestly urged, as the best possible pre- 
ventive of crime, It will be observed, however, that 
evil society" is mentioned as one great cause of error 



THE ERRING. 147 

and wrong-doing, and that it is so, is beyond all ques- 
tion. There are many natures that are wonderfully 
imitative and plastic. They do as others do, and 
either yield with every impulse, or at the sugges- 
tion of another. How essential, therefore, that such 
should be surrounded by good influences! Many a 
promising youth has been lost, by submission to the 
fiery ordeal of corrupt society. His nature has been 
yielding, and the temptation has been strong. This is 
especially the case in great cities. A thousand snares 
and allurements are held out, in order to resist which 
there must be moral as well as mental force. The 
wonder is, not that a few occasionally fall by the way, 
but that so many wrestle boldly and manfully, and 
achieve a victory. 

But the first error should not be regarded as fatal. 
Another chance should be afforded ; and when, alas I 
the shame and humiliation of conviction are added, it 
is indeed difficult, even for the stout of heart, to stand 
up again in the vigor of manhood, and make an effort 
to regain the lost position in society. Nevertheless, 
to this laudable end should all prison discipline and 
all kindly interference on the part of the philanthropic 
be directed. Many an erring brother has been won 
back to the right path, and restored to position, man- 
liness, and honor. The work is one that commends 
itself to the attention of ail who wish well to human 
nature. What greater triumph could be imagined 
than the rescue of a fallen soul! What nobler 
achievement than the restoration of an erring friend ! 
What higher reward than the consciousness of having 
averted a downward career, and reillumined with 
hope, and life, and energy, a despairing bosom I 
9 



148 THE POOR INEBRIATE. 

There are, among our fellow-citizens, some who take 
delight in doing good. They seek out the abodes of 
the wretched, the abandoned, the outcast, and the 
criminal, and not only comfort and console, but en- 
deavor to make them penitent, and to persuade them 
to a better and brighter course for the future. But 
for such kindly and friendly sympathy and counsel, 
the broken in spirit would sink into the deepest abys- 
ses of despair, never to rise again. But there are 
angels in human form, ministers of a high and a heav- 
enly beneficence, and to all such in their holy missions, 
we bid— God speed ! 



" He is thy brother still." 

THE movement that has just been made in this 
city,* for the establishment of a Temporary 
Home for the poor Inebriate, is well calculated to 
enlist the sympathy of all who can appreciate and feel 
for the condition of the erring, the misguided and the 
unfortunate. That intemperance is a vice of the most 
deplorable kind, and that it is productive of fearful 
consequences, not only to the victims themselves, but 
to their friends and families, is a fact that no intelligent 
individual will deny. The life of the habitual drunkard 



* A public meeting was held in Philadelphia on the 20th of May, 1S58, at which 
It was resolved to establish a Temporary Home for Inebriates. 






THE POOR INEBRIATE. 149 

is one of misery, remorse, agony and shame. He is, 
in some sense, the mere sport of a demon. However 
kind, gentle and generous he may be in his rational, 
thoughtful and temperate moments, the chances are as 
a thousand to one, that when laboring under the influ- 
ence of the intoxicating draught, he will either become 
an idiot, a brute or a fiend. All sense of propriety 
will be forgotten, all dignity of character will be thrown 
aside, and the wretched sot or madman will play such 
fantastic tricks, as to make him a buffoon and the 
sport of the heartless, or grovel so low, as to render it 
necessary for him to be concealed from the public 
gaze and the popular scorn. 

How many hearts have been lacerated, how many 
hearths have been made desolate, how many families 
have been impoverished, how many beings have been 
hurried into untimely graves through the agency of 
intemperance I The catalogue, if it could be obtained, 
would present a terrible array indeed. Fond and 
favorite sons have become outcasts, wanderers and 
vagabonds, and doting parents have wept tears of blood 
over the prostrate, the fallen, and the degraded. Char- 
acter has been destroyed, health has been impaired, 
and even murder has been prompted and perpetrated 
through the agency of this terrible infirmity. Can we 
wonder then, that ever and anon the good and the 
wise throughout the land, seeing the wreck and the 
havoc that are produced by the wine-cup, should rouse 
themselves to an intense appreciation of the evils and 
the terrors of intoxication, and should make an extra- 
ordinary effort to eradicate, or at least to modify, so 
desolating and destructive a vice ! And yet the poor 
drunkard is often to be pitied. He is, himself, the 



150 THE POOR INEBRIATE. 

keenest sufferer, and whenever permitted to pause in 
his downward career, and to contemplate the ignominy 
of his position, he must feel " all the tortures of the 
damned." Id many cases too, he would repent, abstain, 
and retrace his footsteps, if a fitting opportunity were 
afforded, and he could exercise the moral power. It 
should be remembered, that some of our most enlight- 
ened physicians regard intemperance as a disease, and 
urge that it should be treated accordingly, That it is 
so in many cases, we have not a doubt. Who indeed, 
has not known of individuals, with the brightest pros- 
pect before them, surrounded with every comfort and 
luxury, accomplished, talented, and powerful, and yet, 
so wedded to this one infirmity, so overcome and con- 
quered by this subtle demon, as to have gone on step 
by step, plunging deeper and more downward into 
the fatal abyss, until reputation was sullied, fortune 
was impaired, and life itself was sacrificed. There are 
again, not a few of the erring, the struggling and the 
indigent, who are scarcely masters of themselves 
They give way before the first blow of misfortune, 
and in the excitement of the moment, they fly to 
the maddening yet Lethean draught, as to their last 
and only solace. And when once the fatal step is 
taken, when once the reason trembles and totters, 
when the brain becomes inflamed, and the eye il- 
lumined by an unnatural glare — who may tell the 
consequences ? And is there no remedy ? Can none 
of these unfortunates, these guilty, these reckless and 
despairing victims of a vile habit, be rescued from 
such a fearful career, and restored to the ways of well- 
doing ? Is the system that has heretofore been pur- 
sued the right one? Should the poor drunkard be 



TEMPTATION. lt)l 

sent to the prison or the almshouse, and thus at once 
degraded and punished ; or should an effort be made 
to admonish, persuade, reform and cure him ? There 
cannot be a doubt, as to the proper policy under the 
circumstances, and hence it is, that we sincerely rejoice 
that preliminary steps have been taken in this city, 
for the purpose of establishing A temporary home 
for the inebriate. While we denounce the vice, 
let us endeavor to do something for the victims. 
While we regard " inebriety as a great misfortune and 
a great sin," let us remember that we are all erring, 
human, finite and fallible beings, and that we owe it 
to society and humanity, to step aside from the ordi- 
nary paths of life, to penetrate the hovels, the alleys 
and the by-ways, if thereby we can rescue and relieve 
a fallen brother. " None are all evil," and even the 
poor drunkard, despised, contemned and derided, as 
he too generally is, may yet have, within his mind 
and his heart, a lingering spark of generosity and 
virtue, that only requires to . be fanned by kindness, 
sympathy and benevolence, to kindle it into a bright 
and regenerating flame. 



Cemptatm— CJt Jfirst Jak Stop. 



Lead us not into temptation.' 



PERHAPS the highest condition of moral courage 
is that which is able to resist pressing temptation. 
There are few men who know themselves thoroughly, 



152 TEMPTATION. 

or whose characters are fully developed, until they 
have been sorely tried. Adversity is sometimes the 
test and touchstone, and sometimes prosperity. It is 
an easy thing for an individual to move along smoothly 
and quietly, who has no wants, no necessities ; whose 
worldly affairs are prosperous, whose time is suffici- 
ently occupied, who is moderate in disposition, and 
whose temper is calm and tranquil. But let the cir- 
cumstances of that individual change, let him be 
harassed from day to day and week to week, let ruin 
threaten on the one hand and beggary on the other, 
let dishonor and disgrace appear on the one side, and 
temptation and a brighter prospect on the other, and 
who may imagine the effects, or predict the conse- 
quences ? The great Arch-fiend himself, knowing the 
power of temptation, took the Saviour of mankind to 
the top of a high mountain, and spread before him, in 
the most alluring colors, a picture of Principalities and 
Powers, well calculated to dazzle and bewilder any but 
an incorruptible Being. And so at the present day, 
Temptation is seen in a thousand forms. A little while 
since, and the Emperor of all the Eussias, inflamed by 
the madness of ambition, and regardless of right and 
justice, determined upon the spoliation of the Otto- 
man Empire. But he was unwilling to undertake the 
task single-handed, and thus he, serpent-like, and with 
a degree of plausibility that has few parallels in the 
history of monarchs, tempted Great Britain and 
France, by an offer of a portion of the spoils. Those 
Governments resisted, greatly to their honor, and 
hence the bloody conflict that has since been waged by 
the Czar against the Sultan and his allies. The fearful 
moment for the weak and the infirm of purpose, is when 



TEMPTATION. 153 

misfortune is at hand, when difficulty threatens, and 
disaster is apprehended. Then the subtle voice of 
temptation is heard— the voice it may be of the Evil 
One, and a thousand means of extrication and recovery 
are presented. Alas ! for the listener at such a crisis. 
The first false step, and all conscientious scruples soon 
vanish. It is then that the struggle takes place be- 
tween the two principles — the principles of virtue and 
of vice— of right and of wrong. It is, indeed difficult 
to resist, especially when ruin is apparent on the one 
hand, and escape on the other. The escape, in a great 
majority of cases, amounts to a mockery and delusion ; 
but the mind is maddened to excitement, the heart is 
agonized by alarm, the reason is overcome by conflict- 
ing emotions, and hence, in an evil hour, the first fatal 
plunge is made — the first great outrage is perpetrated 
— the first fearful iniquity is committed. If, at such 
a time, and under such circumstances, sufficient moral 
courage can be summoned to resist the tempter, if 
nerve enough can be called into requisition to face the 
first disaster, the chances are a thousand to one that 
the storm will blow by, and all will soon be well again. 
But it is exactly this kind of courage in which so 
many are deficient. A sense of false pride influences 
and controls, and rather than acknowledge that their 
position is one of difficulty or humiliation, they resort 
to some perilous expedient or fearful wrong. A year 
before, and when in a condition of high prosperity, had 
such an idea oeen suggested to them, had such a policy 
• been proposed, they would have scouted it with scorn. 
But then they were not in a condition to be tempted 
with impunity and with success. Then there was no 
apparent necessity, and they were in full possession of 



154 TEMPTATION. 

all their mental and moral faculties. This, in all 
probability, was the exact condition of the great rail- 
road defaulter in New York, whose case and whose 
errors have created such a sensation throughout the 
Union. He was an honest man, when beyond the 
reach of temptation, and would then have denounced 
just as bitterly as he has since been denounced, the 
perpetrator of a similar fraud. But the storm came, 
he lacked the nerve to resist it, and rather than show 
his hand and admit his error, he ventured one false 
step, and then the others followed in quick succession, 
until there yawned before him. an abyss of infamy and 
horror. "The life of that unhappy man, from the mo- 
ment of the commission of the first fatal error, must 
have been one of constant anxiety and anguish. His 
mind must have been haunted by the fear of discovery, 

and then with the accumulated horrors of shame and 

• 

disgrace, abandonment of family, attempted escape, 
possible arrest and trial, conviction, and a thousand 
other fearful apprehensions. And such has been the 
case on many former occasions, and such will be the 
case again and again. What, then, is the moral of all 
this ? a Let him that standeth, take heed lest he fall 1" 
Let us distrust ourselves, admit the fallibility of human 
nature, watch and guard our weaknesses constantly, 
and avoid and resist by every possible means, the fas- 
cinations of temptation. And when, too, we see 
around us, the erring, the irresolute, and the weak, 
goaded into some act of imprudence or of crime, 
either by ignorance, by association, or by want — let us 
indulge a mercifnl judgment, and conceive that we, 
too, might have faltered and fallen under precisely 
similar circumstances. Only a few years since, and a 






TEMPTATION. 155 

sad case passed immediately under our observation. A 
young man who occupied one of the highest positions 
in Philadelphia, was induced to indulge beyond his 
means in stock operations. He lost again and again, 
and at last, in the hope of recovering his losses, he 
ventured to employ in a similar manner, a sum of 
oney that had been confided to him in trust. The 
result was most deplorable. The trust fund was also 
lost, his character was destroyed, and in utter despair, 
he hastened to another city, where, unable to wrestle 
against the misfortunes of his position, and the recol- 
lection of his former reputation and prosperity, he sick- 
ened and died at the early age of thirty. The first 
temptation was a sudden fortune through the agency 
of stock operations, and the second was the recovery 
of his impaired position, by the misapplication of 
funds confided to him in the most solemn manner. 
But we need not multiply illustrations. They may be 
seen daily and hourly in almost every walk of life. 
Let us then invoke the moral courage, to resist the 
first whisperings of the subtle serpent, and constantly 
repeat the prayer — "Lead us not into tempta- 
tion.' 1 



ilfornth fife.— Ultttaal ^takmmt vs. 
fttampatiMfitg of Cemper. 

"And to be wroth, with one we love, 
Doth work like madness in the brain." — Coleridge. 

WITHIN a few years, cases of difficulty, misun- 
derstanding, and separation in married life 
have, as it seems to us, greatly increased; and the 
alleged cause, in the majority of instances, has been 
" incompatibility of disposition." In other words, the 
parties have not harmonized together, have not deter- 
mined to make due allowances for the imperfections 
and infirmities of each other, have indulged in out- 
breaks of temper, which, increasing from day to day, 
have, in the end, been productive the of most deplorable 
consequences. Either they misunderstood each other 
at the commencement, or they forgot in married life 
the rules of forbearance and indulgence which they 
practiced in the sunny days of courtship. All, it 
should be remembered, are imperfect. All have their 
faults and frailties ; and while in early life, in the flush 
and buoyancy of youth and spring, these little spots 
on the sun of character and disposition may not be 
seen, or be disregarded, if seen, we should be careful 
not to magnify them in after years, or to refer to them 
as if they had been discovered for the first time. The 
doctrine of mutual forbearance cannot be too sedu- 
lously cultivated and practiced, especially in married 
(156) 



MARRIED LIFE. 157 

life. " Trifles light as air" sometimes annoy and irri- 
tate. A harsh word will excite distrust or produce 
pain, while an angry look will rouse in the sensitive 
breast, apprehensions of the keenest kind. How im- 
portant, too, is the control of temper ! And this lan- 
guage will apply as well to one sex as the other. It is 
unreasonable in the husband to suppose that he may 
indulge in violence of speech and harshness of manner, 
and yet meet with nothing but kindness and forbear- 
ance in return. And so also it is absurd in the wife, 
to fancy that she may fret, fume and scold, hour by 
hour and day by day, and all with impunity. There 
must be reciprocity. There must be a disposition to 
give and to take. There must be a determination to 
bear and forbear — to conciliate and compromise. It 
often happens that tastes differ widely with reference 
to company, social amusements, modes of living, and 
worldly appearances. The husband, for example, may 
be a business man, actively and arduously engaged 
throughout the day, and exhausted in some degree by 
nightfall. Under such circumstances, it is unreason- 
able in the wife to expect him to enter into the giddy 
mazes of fashion, to keep up till midnight at some 
brilliant party, and to follow this system night after 
night, or even several times during each week. Either 
one of three things must give way under such a policy 
— the health, the business, or the social festival. The 
two former are among the essentials, and hence they 
should not be trifled with. A sensible woman will so 
understand the case, and govern herself accordingly. 
On the other hand, a gay and dashing belle, one per- 
haps who has been petted and spoiled, or one who is 
in the enjoyment of high health, youth and beauty, 



158 MARRIED LIFE. 

should, as a wife, not be deprived of all gay and 
cheerful society. She should not be compelled to 
sacrifice all her friends and companions, to gratify the 
disposition or satisfy the selfishness of her husband. 
Both, we repeat, should yield something. There 
should be a mutual understanding. The wife should 
regard and consider the cares of the out-door world, 
and the anxieties to which all men of business are 
more or less liable. One of the first duties which a 
man owes to his wife, is to provide her with the com- 
forts of social existence, and this can only be done by 
a prompt and faithful attendance to his business ; and 
one of the first duties which a wife owes to her hus- 
band is, to make his home cheerful, sunny, sacred — 
the happiest spot on earth. Let her surround it with 
every possible temptation — let her always welcome 
him with a smile — let his wishes be the predominant 
thought in her heart and her mind, and she will win 
him away from a thousand fascinations of the out-door 
world. 

But, we repeat, there should be a mutual effort to 
please. There are hours in the life of every one, 
when a cheering voice, a consoling word, and an en- 
couraging smile, are absolutely essential. And where 
should these be sought for if not at home? " Nothing," 
says a celebrated writer, "could be more touching 
than to behold a soft and tender female, who had been 
all weakness and dependence, and alive to every trivial 
roughness, while treading the prosperous path of life, 
suddenly rising in mental force, to be the comforter 
and supporter of the husband under misfortunes, 
abiding with unshrinking firmness, the bitterest blast 
of adversity. As the vine which has long twined its 



MARRIED LIFE. ■ 159 

graceful foliage about the oak, and has been lifted by 
it into sunshine, will, when the hardy plant has been 
rifted by the thunderbolt, cling round it with its 
caressing tendrils, and bind up its shattered boughs ; 
so, too, it is beautifully ordained by Providence that 
woman, who is the ornament and dependent of man in 
his happier hours, should be his stay and solace when 
smitten with dire and sudden calamity, winding her- 
self into the rugged recesses of his nature, tenderly 
supporting his drooping head, and binding up his 
broken heart." 

But is this ever the case, or are there too many ex- 
ceptions ? Alas ! we fear that with the great multi- 
tude there are faults on both sides. There are few 
even of those who have entered the wedded state, who 
strive from the commencement to soften the ways of 
life the one to the other, to minister constantly to the 
comforts and happiness, to remember and discharge 
all their duties and responsibilities. And when, too, 
as it often happens, the demon-spirit of an evil temper 
is constantly manifested, not only in little things but 
in great, when a shrill, harsh voice of complaint is 
perpetually ringing in the ears of one or the other — 
when a disposition to find fault without cause, and 
thus to annoy and irritate, is constantly apparent; 
when the husband regards himself as a despot, and 
treats his wife as a slave ; or when the wife, on the 
other hand, is constantly exacting and never striving 
to discharge her part in the harmonious obligation, 
the effects are bitter, painful, and every way melan- 
choly. And yet there is no relation on this side of 
the grave, more sacred, more dignified, or more ele- 
vated, than that of husband and wife. The parties 



160 THE PEEVISH AND THE PASSIONATE. 

might be, and should be, to each other, perpetual sources 
of consolation and pleasure. There should be no dis- 
trust, no suspicion, no equivocation between beings so 
circumstanced. They should live as much as possible 
as if animated by one soul and aiming at one destiny. 
Neither should look for perfection in the other, and 
yet each should endeavor to excel the other in generous 
efforts of gentleness, kindness, and affection. It has 
been well said that " in this world there is nothing of 
such value as affection, and the most trifling expression 
thereof, even though it be a single word of endearment, 
is in the ears that are properly attuned, a pleasanter 
sound than that of gold pieces." Think of these hints, 
gentle reader, apply them to your daily practice, and 
forthwith proceed to correct and amend your many 
errors of omission and commission. 



" The worst of slaves is lie whom passion rules." 

- ' " How terrible is passion ! how our reason 

Falls down before it, while the tortur'd frame, 
Like a ship dash'd by fierce encountering tides, 
And of her pilot spoil'd, drives round and round, 
The sport of wind and wave." 

11 ljWEKY human creature," says an eminent writer, 

JLi "is sensible of the propensity to some infirmity 

of temper, which it should be his care to correct and 

subdue, particularly in the early part of life; else, 



THE PEEVISH AND THE PASSIONATE. 161 

when arrived at a state of maturity, he may relapse 
into those faults which were originally in his nature, 
and which require to be watched and kept under 
through the whole course of his life." W^ have sel- 
dom met with so much real wisdom in so small a com- 
pass. The doctrine is true, the philosophy is sound. 
All have their infirmities. Every human creature is 
liable to some weakness or some vice. There is no 
such thing as a perfect being under the sun. But, in- 
asmuch as the mind may be improved by education, 
and the manners by association, so the heart may be 
purified, the temper softened, and the disposition con- 
trolled by the employment of the proper means. We 
should apply to ourselves the rules that we are so apt 
to apply to others. "We should " see ourselves as 
others see us ;" and having ascertained our infirmities, 
we should not only strive for the day and the hour, 
but constantly to obtain the mastery over, and thus 
the means of correcting them. Are we peevish, fret- 
ful and irritable? Do we permit ourselves to be 
annoyed unnecessarily by trifles ; and then, in very 
perverseness, do we annoy and make all around us 
unhappy? Are we selfish or disinterested in our 
general conduct? If we have committed an error, 
and are suffering from the consequences, do we in 
justice and generosity take the full penalty to our- 
selves, or do we make an effort to fix the responsibility 
upon others? Do we exercise self-control, self-re- 
straint and self-denial, and while paying proper regard 
to our own interests and those of the beings imme- 
diately dependent upon us — do we recollect that we 
owe other duties to society, and especially to the 
afflicted, the suffering and the indigent? Let us re 



162 THE PEEVISH AND THE PASSIONATE. 

view our conduct for a single month. Have we out- 
raged any law, have we violated any trust, have we, 
by word or by deed, and without the slightest neces- 
sity, rendered any one unhappy? Have we been 
petulant and peevish without reason ; have we yielded 
to infirmities and errors that it is our duty to com- 
mand and control ? 

Perhaps we are among the passionate — that un- 
happy class of human beings who are constantly get- 
ting excited, and who in their fits of anger inflict 
wounds that rankle for years. A passionate man is 
indeed a sad head for a household. He is often a 
tyrant without knowing it. and gives pain without de- 
signing or intending to cause at. He may regret his 
conduct immediately after, and yet the next day or 
the next week he will indulge in a similar outburst. 
It is quite as essential in childhood that the temper 
should be trained and controlled, as the mind, and the 
task is just as practicable. But some parents are so 
forgetful of this that they absolutely teach their chil- 
dren to become torments, not only to themselves, but 
to all over whom in after life they may exercise in- 
fluence. A boy with a bad temper, unless it be 
trained, regulated and controlled, is almost sure to be- 
come a violent — perhaps a desperate and a criminal 
man. One half the deeds of wrong and outrage that 
occur in private life are the fruits of badly-governed 
passions. The history of our penitentiaries affords a 
fearful illustration upon this point. It is bad enough 
to be peevish and complaining, but it is far worse to 
be passionate. Man, without the controlling power ot 
reason and religion, is full of vicious propensities, the 



THE PEEVISH AND THE PASSIONATE. 163 

indulgence of which will invariably lead him to error, 
transgression, disgrace and penalty. 

We wonld not have an individual so perfectly calm 
and yielding as to become a mere instrument in the 
hands of another. This would indicate a fearful fall 
from proper independence and just responsibility. But 
we should examine carefully, reflect duly, and decide 
calmly. And after having deliberately formed our 
opinions, we should express them in a frank, decorous 
and courteous, but at the same time a manly and de- 
cided spirit. If they differ, however widely, from 
those of a friend or neighbor, let us not forget the 
respect that is due as well to him as to ourselves, and 
become irritable, excited, and denounce him as a fool 
or a knave. Nothing of the kind is necessary. An 
honest difference of opinion need not be a cause of 
quarrel, no matter what the subject, or however great 
the stake involved. Be courteous, be generous, be * 
firm. This is the doctrine, this the policy. Only 
yesterday we saw two gentlemen meet accidentally in 
the street and commence conversation. We knew the 
men, knew that they were of opposite politics, knew 
one to be mild, the other passionate, and we paused 
for a moment, with the object of gathering a lesson 
from life. They had not been together five minutes 
before the argument deepened in warmth, and the par- 
ties displayed their peculiar traits of disposition. The 
mild and courteous was calm, persuasive and resolute, 
while the passionate was excited, insolent and vindic- 
tive. He perhaps meant nothing, nothing of an im- 
proper and insulting nature, and yet his manner as 
well as his language was most offensive. His face 
flushed, his voice deepened in tone, and at times 
10 



164 THE PEEVISH AND THE PASSIONATE. 

he seemed almost disposed to back his words by 
blows : 

" Upon his brow the swelling vein 
Throbb'd, as if back npon his brain 
The hot blood ebb'd and flow'd again." 

And yet it was his nature, his untaught nature, his 
unfortunate habit. He could not help himself; he 
was the slave of his own passions. He could not see 
his error, or seeing, did not possess the moral force 
necessary to its correction. With our gentle friend, 
there was no danger of a personal collision or conflict. 
He knew his man, and only smiled and blushed at the 
storm of the other. And yet it might have been other- 
wise. Another passionate man might have been the 
opponent, and then, in all likelihood, words would 
have been succeeded by blows ; and all, too, with no 
useful object, and to no useful purpose. It is so easy 
for one who is disposed to quarrel to find a cause. 
The merest trifle, a very spark, may influence and 
madden. We repeat — peevishness is bad enough, 
but passion is worse. The one may merely annoy, 
but the other may provoke and insult : the one is 
often the source of unhappiness, the other that of 
crime. 



kjjttf-trate rob Srankkuragm. 

" Curse the tongue 
Whence slanderous rumor, like the adder's drop, 
Distills her venom, withering friendship's faith, 
Turning love's favor." 

" The ignoble mind 
Loves ever to assail with secret blow 
The loftier, purer beings of their kind, * 

WE some days since saw an individual, quite ad- 
vanced in life, who was busily engaged in run- 
ning round among his friends and acquaintances, for 
the purpose of pointing out and commenting upon a 
slight error that had been committed by a citizen of 
considerable standing in society. The matter was very 
trifling, and was so considered by all of moderate and 
generous views. But, not so the veteran mischief- 
maker and scandal-monger. He, in the first place, 
seemed quite excited and delighted that an opportu- 
nity was afforded of indulging in criticism, fretfulness, 
and complaint ; and in the second, was eager and anx- 
ious to magnify a " mote into a mountain," and was 
moreover quite annoyed because all the world would 
not agree with him. In one instance he met with a 
kind-hearted friend, who remonstrated at the unchari- 
table disposition he manifested, expressed surprise 
that he should take such a prejudiced and unkind 
view of the case, and remarked that it was " always the 
liberal and benevolent policy to overlook or apologize 
for an error so insignificant, especially as it had been 
committed without any harsh or base motive." But 
W (165) 



166' MISCHIEF-MAKERS AND SCANDAL-MONGERS^ 

the mischief-maker could not or would not be con- 
vinced. He was determined to put the worst construc- 
tion upon human motives and movements — insinuated 
more than he said — intimated that this " was not the 
first mishap of the kind," — raked up some by-gone 
follies, and thus seemed resolved upon staining a 
character that is deservedly regarded as bright and 
pure as that of any citizen in the community. We 
notice the incident as one of a thousand that occur from 
time to time, of a like nature, and founded upon a 
similar disposition of malevolence. There are among 
mankind, too many who seem to take delight in 
making their fellow-creatures miserable; who either 
from envy, jealousy or an evil disposition, are never 
so fully in their element as when they are detailing or 
exaggerating some piece of misrepresentation or scan- 
dal, some story calculated to wound the feelings, to 
blacken the reputation, and to excite suspicion and 
distrust. No matter how unfounded the allegation, it 
is all the same to them. They adopt the darkest view 
in every case, and then deliberately proceed to add still 
more sombre tints. Their first object in the morning 
appears to be to discover some novelty in the way of 
defamation and their next to circulate the story as 
widely as possible. They never think of the conse- 
quences to family and friends, or if they do, they are 
utterly heartless upon the subject. Mischief, scandal, 
the misery of others, appear to be their delight, and 
they devote not a little of their time and means to the 
indulgence of a disposition and propensity truly lam- 
entable and criminal. They seldom have a good word 
or a bright portrait for any one. They rarely com- 
pliment or utter any thing suited to excite a pleasurable 



MISCHIEF-MAKERS AND SCANDAL-MONGERS. 167 

emotion. They look upon the world with jealous or 
jaundiced eyes, and turn with ill-concealed irritation 
from a picutre of unalloyed happiness. Detail to them 
a calumny of the most startling character, and calcu 
lated to involve dozens of individuals in mental agony, 
and their eyes will dance with joy ! 

This is no fancy sketch. There are, alas ! too many 
originals of the description that we have here hastily 
ventured to portray. Mischief-makers and scandal- 
mongers have been the bane of society for ages. They 
have been the authors of a fearful amount of human 
suffering. They have broken many a gentle heart, 
and prostrated, as by some secret and invisible power, 
many a strong and vigorous frame. Nothing is so 
subtle, nothing so malignant as cautious and calculat- 
ing slander. The calumny does its work before the 
discovery is made that it is calumny. The victim 
finds himself distrusted, avoided, and he seeks for the 
cause in vain. The assassin of character is not a whit 
less culpable in a moral point of view, than the assassin 
of life. He strikes at and endeavors to destroy, what 
indeed is dearer than life. And yet how common is 
this vice, how great is the propensity to scandal ! How 
reputation is trifled with, and fair fame imperilled ! 
How uncharitable are mankind generally. A story is 
told calculated to injure, and without inquiring for a 
moment as to the real facts, it passes from lip to lip, 
gathering strength with every new version, until at 
last the habitual scandal- monger not only asserts the 
truth of his own knowledge, but is quite indignant 
when a doubt is expressed, or a word of generous sym- 
pathy is interposed. The object appears to be, to 
trample down and destroy, and he cares not who suffers. 



168 MISCHIEF-MAKERS AND SCANDAL-MONGERS. 

It often happens, too, that slight misunderstandings 
occur among neighbors — misunderstandings which, by 
mutual forbearance and generous conciliation, could 
and would be readily adjusted. But the parties, some- 
times one and sometimes both, become embittered, and 
thus neighbors and friends are soon converted into 
slandering monomaniacs, implacable and deadly foes. 
The spirit of hatred seems to grow with their growth 
and strengthen with their strength, and they revile 
and defame with such a constancy and determination, 
that they annoy all with whom they come in contact. 
A case of this kind was recently pointed out to us. 
Two gentlemen were engaged together in a heavy 
speculation, and jointly purchased a large property. 
In closing the affair a trifling difficulty occurred, and 
although they resided within a stone's throw of each 
other, a coolness, a jealousy, a dislike became apparent 
between their families. One was somewhat impetuous 
and violent for a time, but the feeling soon subsided. 
The other, however, seems to have imbibed a deathless 
and vindictive hatred — which he apparently communi- 
cated to all his domestic circle — and thus the old friend 
is assailed "behind his back," on every occasion and in 
almost every form. His errors and imperfections — and 
who is without them ? — are canvassed in the most malig- 
nant spirit, and he is painted in the most revolting 
colors. The affair has thus gone on for months and 
will probably end in a suit to obtain legal redress, or 
at least an exemption from further malicious assaults 
of the kind. But, we repeat, the vice of scandal is by 
far too common. It is a heartless, a wicked propensity. 
If we cannot say a good word of our neighbors and 
friends, let us at Lsast keep silent. If we cannot assist 






THE FOLLY OF CRIME. 169 

and brighten the reputation of those with whom we 
mingle and associate, let us at least avoid exaggerated 
stories, falsehood and calumny. The mischief-maker, 
the cool and deliberate plotter of scandal, is indeed a 
pest to society ; but the mischief-monger — the indi- 
vidual who catches up and circulates the fabrications 
of others, is scarcely less excusable. The result no 
man can foretell. "We believe that not onhr many a 
character has been destroyed, but many a life has been 
sacrificed by a malignant, plausible, and carefully con- 
cocted slander. 



% Jfdlljj of mm, 



" Be not self-deceived." 

" This, above all, to thine own self be true, 
And it will follow, as the night the day, 
Thou canst not then be false to any man." 

" hateful error, melancholy's child ! 
Why dost thou show to the apt thoughts of men 
The things that are not ! error soon conceived, 
Thou never cora'st unto a happy birth, 
But kill'st the mother that engender'd thee." 



WE believe that if the history of all the leading 
criminals of our day could be obtained, and if 
the guilty could be induced to make full confession of 
their whole course of life, it would be ascertained that 
the majority were self-deceived — that they foolishly 
and blindly imagined that they were wiser, more cun- 
ning, more artful than the rest of mankind, and that 



170 THE FOLLY OF CRIME. 

thus they would be able to violate the laws of God 
and man, and yet escape with impunity. Alas ! how 
often do men discover their folly when too late. They 
consult the present rather than the future — the a fleet- 
ing moments" rather than the " lagging years." They 
are short-sighted in more senses than one. They see 
only the facts and circumstances immediately around 
them. TJfiey fancy that they can deceive the world, 
and thus they deceive and betray themselves. They 
forget that an Infinite Power controls human events 
and human destiny, and therefore when they suppose 
themselves least suspected and most strongly fortified, 
they discover that they are exposed, detected, and 
made to suffer an adequate penalty. 

Our doctrine is, that sooner or later, even in this 
life, a deliberate wrong — " a cold and calculating vil- 
lainy," will be avenged ! We believe that a fraud or 
a falsehood carries with it the elements of its own pen- 
alty. The perpetrator may triumph for an hour, for 
a day, or for a year — but, sooner or later, the reaction 
will come. This is but a law of right and of justice. 
The history of the world and of human nature is full 
of illustrations. It sometimes happens that a cautious 
and subtle villain will, in a worldly sense, be success- 
ful for a series of years — will amass wealth, attain 
power, and thus apparently mock at and defy all the 
ordinary principles of virtue and humanity. But even 
in such cases, the penalty is often a writhing and burn- 
ing pang of conscience, a fearful and irresistible appre- 
hension of coming calamity, a shrinking with horror 
from a contemplation of the past, or some dreadful do- 
mestic affliction, some sudden, frightful, perhaps incur- 
able disease. To be a deliberate villain — to commit 






THE FOLLY OF CRIME. 171 

crime after crime — to wrong the widow and the orphan 
— to betray friendship and violate honor — and yet to 
go through the world calmly and quietly, with peace- 
ful slumbers at night, and happy thoughts by day, is, 
we contend, an impossibility. We may escape imme- 
diate and direct accountability, avoid the law and its 
meshes, and thus apparently go scot-free. But it is 
not so. The " still small voice" within will whisper 
and admonish — the dream by night and the haunting 
apprehension by day will disturb and annoy — the fear 
of coming ill, of sudden sickness, of early death, will 
vex and harrow the soul — and thus life, however seem- 
ingly prosperous to the out-door world, will become a 
curse instead of a blessing. The very fruits of our 
wrong-doing, although they may consist of houses, 
lands, and stocks, will appear constantly before the 
excited mind and imagination, as unstable and perish- 
able, and as likely " to take wings to themselves and 
flee away." This is no idle picture, no fancy sketch. 
We may stultify the mind and heart for a time, and close 
our ears and our consciences from reflection and peni- 
tence. Nevertheless, ever and anon, the recollection 
will revive — the tears and the imprecations of th* 
injured will reappear to our mental eyes, and rinp 
through our thoughtful ears—and thus, we repeat, we 
will suffer the penalty even in this life. 

The folly of crime is indeed the veriest madness of 
our nature. We all realize the fact — all at least, who 
are not utterly dead to every gentle emotion and moral 
reflection — that an injury, deliberately inflicted upon 
another, is certain to react. It will return to us in sor- 
row and in shame, and unless atoned for amply and 
justly, some misfortune will be sure to wait upon our 



172 THE FOLLY OF CKIME. 

footsteps — some cloud to darken our pathway, soma 
failure to attend our undertakings. This, we contend, 
is a doctrine which all who have had experience, will 
recognize as truth. The beggar in the almshouse, and 
the felon in the cell will, when brought to a condition 
of calmness, quiet, and reflection, admit that they were 
fools when they went astray — that they deceived them- 
selves when they attempted to deceive others, that 
penalty followed fast on the footsteps of crime, and 
that when they fancied themselves the most secure, 
they were on the very verge of discovery. And at 
this moment, how many are there, even among the 
fancied wise, who are engaged in the toils of dishonor, 
who are striving to supplant a friend, who are intrigu- 
ing to overthrow a companion — who indulge in the 
false and fatal doctrine that success will sanctify the 
means — that power and prosperity for a few years will 
be better than honor, and fidelity, and integrity for 
time and for eternity ! How many are there, who plot 
with subtlety, violate the principles of justice and 
humanity, and persuade themselves that all is right, if 
they can only avoid the law, if they can only accom- 
plish their purpose ! 

But some one, who has discovered the folly of guilt, 
who, having attained an end, turns back with sorrow 
and with shame upon the means, may inquire — " What 
can be done now ? The offence has been committed. 
It is too late to repair it." 

No, far from it. This is another error of weakness 
and of vice. " Better late than never." While there 
is life, there is opportunity. It is never too late to re- 
pent and repair. Now is the time. Hesitate no longer. 
The guilt— the perversity— the false pride of years 



SUCCESS AND FAILUKE. 173 

may be atoned for in a single day. Enter upon the 
good work of amendment in the true spirit, and all 
will be well. The darkness of the past years will 
speedily disappear, and the edges of the future will 
brighten with beauty, light, and glory. 

But, alas ! for the impenitent — the self-willed — the 
hard-hearted — the conscience-tortured, and yet the 
proud, the unbending, the unatoning — 

" So do the dark in soul expire, 
Or live like scorpions girt by fire ; 
So writhes the mind remorse hath riven, 
Unfit for earth, undoom'd for heaven- 
Darkness above, despair beneath, 
Around it flame, within it death !" 



Sutms into Jailmt .-Cjje €xm\ $tt!bpmt of 
% Worlff. 

" Deserted in his utmost need 
By those his former bounty fed." 
, " Affliction is the good man's shining scene, 
Prosperity conceals his brightest ray ; 
As night to stars, woe lustre gives to man." 

WE are often, induced to pause, and turn away 
with sorrow if not indignation, at the cold 
selfish and cruel spirit which is generally manifested 
by mankind, at the downfall of a fellow-creature. Let 
an individual engage in an enterprise, however wild, 
hazardous, unjust and immoral — and let eminent suc- 
cess crown his efforts, and he will immediately find 
thousands of parasites and eulogists. "The end," 



174 SUCCESS AND FAILURE. 

with them, " sanctifies the means." The success renders 
them forgetful of the immorality, and hence, it so fre- 
quently happens that a rich man, who may have 
attained his wealth by a system utterly vile and profli- 
gate, is regarded by the thoughtless many with far 
more favor and respect, than a poor man who has 
toiled all his life in an honest and honorable calling, 
but who has ever been among the unfortunate in a 
pecuniary sense. Success is thus made to sanctify 
vice, and the infamous doctrine is endorsed — "Make 
money, my son, honestly if you can, but by all means 
make money !" The worship of Mammon is a pre 
vailing passion in this country. The desire to attain 
wealth is so strong, that purity and integrity are often 
disregarded or lost sight of. How frequently, when 
a young lady is spoken of as possessing all the quali- 
fications that are calculated to grace and adorn the 
female sex, do we hear the question put by some 
anxious and mercenary inquirer — " Is she ricliV And 
so again with a gentleman under similar circumstances. 
The anxiety is not as to worth, virtue, probity and in- 
telligence, but as to worldly means ! A false system 
is thus inculcated, and our sons and daughters grow 
up with the impression that money is the great object, 
the all-powerful lever; and that with money every 
thing else will follow. The consequences of such a 
doctrine are truly deplorable. Society is rendered 
selfish, corrupt and mercenary — the gentler virtues 
are overlooked or undervalued, while the nobler im- 
pulses and principles of our nature, command little re- 
spect, comparatively speaking. Only a few days since, 
we were shocked and pained by an expression from 
the lips of a youth, whose education and sense of pro- 



SUCCESS AND FAILURE. 175 

priety should have taught him better. Alluding to 
an individual, he said — "He is quite wealthy, and 
therefore highly respectable." But this was possibly 
the creed inculcated by his mental and moral advisers, 
and he was unconscious, or appeared to be, of having 
committed an error. Let us not be misunderstood. 
The man who by a long life of toil, or who by fair, 
honorable and successful enterprise becomes enriched, 
even to the extent of hundreds of thousands, should not 
be less respected on that account. Far from it. The re- 
wards of industry are every way honorable. Our 
children should be directed to such as an example ; 
and the prudence of such a citizen — his integrity, his 
activity and his success, should be held up as every 
way worthy of emulation and imitation. But we 
mean to say, that if the successful merchant, mechanic 
or manufacturer have a neighbor every way equal in 
intelligence, in integrity, and in all that is calculated 
to brighten and ennoble human nature — and who 
nevertheless is miserably poor — he— the poor, the just, 
the good, but unfortunate — is not entitled to less re- 
spect, to less courtesy, to less consideration, than the 
rich and the prosperous. On the contrary, because of 
his misfortunes, we should deal with him more kindly, 
more generously. We should travel out of the ordi- 
nary way to manifest our regard and respect for him. 
We should prove that the man, his character and his 
principles, are the real objects of esteem and consider- 
ation, without the slightest reference to his pecuniary 
condition. 

But, alas! the judgment of the world is seldom thus. 
The unfortunate are too often slighted and contemned, 
while the successful are courted, flattered, and fawned 



176 SUCCESS AND FAILURE. 

upon. Nay, vice in lace is preferred to virtue in rags. 
T±Lf profligate, if affluent, are too often sought for; 
while the honorable and virtuous, if poor, are too often 
avoided and shunned. How forcible is the remark, 
that " the judgment of mankind on human actions is 
too prone to wait on the event of success or disaster in 
human enterprises." A gallant soldier, if successful, 
becomes a hero — if unsuccessful, a rebel. A striking 
instance was recently afforded in the case of Lord 
Gough. When the British Government and the 
British people supposed that he had -been defeated by 
the Sikhs, they attributed to him all kinds of impru- 
dence ; denounced him as rash, unwise, and precipitate, 
and immediately supplanted him by appointing General 
Napier to his place. Soon after intelligence was re- 
ceived that Lord Gough had been completely victorious, 
whereupon "a change came over the spirit of the 
dream." The fortunate officer was eulogized to the 
skies, the press teemed with his praises, a vote of 
thanks was submitted in parliament, and new honors 
were heaped upon him. How forcible the language 
of the poet in this connection : 

"Rebellion, foul dishonoring word, 
Whose wrongf ul blight so oft has stain'd 
The holiest cause, that tongue or sword 
Of mortal ever lost or gained ! 
How many a spirit, born to bless, 
Hath sunk beneath that withering name, 
Whom but a day's, an hour's success 
Had wafted to eternal fame.' 

The successful find panegyrists every where —the 
unfortunate nowhere. The breath of popular app ause 
is often evanescent, while the anathemas of popular 
indignation are often unjust. There is no more sub- 



SUCCESS AND FAILURE. 177 

lime spectacle than a virtuous man struggling against 
the billows of adversity. There is no object more en- 
titled to the sympathy of the truly humane, generous 
and wise. It requires some nerve, some discrimina- 
tion, some magnanimity to rally to the rescue of such. 
Deserted by the crowd, and too often by those who, 
in the day of sunshine, were friends ; the nobler and 
better qualities of our nature are fully tested at such 
a time. It is an easy thing to swim with the current 
— to mingle with the general voice of censure and 
complaint. But it is manly, it is noble, it is god-like, 
to step out from the crowd of the selfish and the 
hypocritical — to stand by and sustain one without 
spot or blemish in character, and whose only crime is 
his poverty, his misfortune. Far better and worthier, 
far holier in the eye of Heaven, a word of kindness, 
an expression of sympathy, an act of manly and 
generous assistance rendered under such circumstances, 
than all the cringing, fawning compliments that the 
mean, the servile, and the adulatory are so disposed 
to lavish at the feet of prosperity and power. 



jM-jtaifab; m, portraits from % 



" Oh, would some power the gift gie us 
To see ourselves as others see us." 



THEKE are few members of the human family who 
are not more or less self-deceived. In many cases 
it is well that it is so. It is well to imagine the exist- 
ence of a condition of contentment, comfort, and hap- 
piness, even if it should not exist. How rarely, in- 
deed, do individuals who are frightfully plain or 
homely really recognize the fact. On the contrary, 
many who are so circumstanced believe that they are 
quite models of physical beauty, and contemplate 
themselves with a degree of vanity and self-compla- 
cency that makes them perfectly happy. " Where 
ignorance is bliss, 'tis folly to be wise." This, although 
not true in the general sense, is assuredly so in certain 
cases. Fortunately, perhaps, for many of us, we can- 
not see ourselves as others see us. The spots on the 
sun of character are not visible to our eyes. Our very 
defects of person become so familiar that we lose sight 
of them, so to speak, and thus they give us no unea- 
siness or annoyance. Others see them, but we do not, 
and hence the aphorism we have quoted is pithy and 
applicable. We have more than once in our rambles 
met with an individual, apparently thirty years of 
age, who, although one of the most insignificant and 
(178) 



THE SELF-DECEIVED. 179 

common- place of mortals, obviously fancies himself a 
perfect Adonis ; and thus with a cane in one hand 
and a pocket-handkerchief in the other, he may be 
seen wandering slowly throngh our fashionable prom- 
enades, ever and anon glancing at his person, evi- 
dently satisfied with himself, and happy in the con- 
ceit that he is the envy of the one sex and the 
admiration of the other. It is a harmless delusion, and 
it would be cruel to destroy it. Nevertheless, the poor 
simpleton is sadly self-deceived. But the most uni- 
versal species of self-deception to which poor mortals 
are liable, is that which induces them to believe that 
they can play two characters before their fellow- 
creatures : in other words, that they can seem to be 
one thing, and in fact be the very reverse, and yet 
no one discover it. They delude themselves with the 
notion that they possess a peculiar intelligence, of 
which others are deprived ; that they can do certain 
things privately, secretly, and escape observation. 
The hypocrite is especially a character of this kind. 
But he goes further than ordinary men, and endeavors 
to deceive the Almighty, or at least tries to persuade 
himself into the belief that a deliberate rascality will 
be overlooked by the Great Judge of the quick and 
the dead, if perpetrated under the mask of religion, 
or with the nominal, but not real object of promoting 
the welfare of society. It is amusing sometimes to 
hear individuals address others, as if on some public 
question, but with selfishness so distinct and palpable, 
that it seems like an insult to attempt a game of de- 
ception so transparent. In cases of this kind, how- 
ever, it is the speaker who is deceived, and not the 
listener. The former fancies that his words conceal 
11 



180 THE SELF-DECEIVED. 

liis thoughts, when, in fact, the mask is so thin that it 
is seen through at once. But all are more or less de- 
ceived at times, and perhaps willingly. It is pleasant 
to indulge in an agreeable delusion, and therefore we 
would not have the veil withdrawn and the reality 
made bare. Better, we argue, to live on thus than be 
made miserable by discovering the truth. How many 
men deceive themselves in relation to the real nature 
of their pecuniary circumstances? They persuade 
themselves that they are quite rich, when in fact they 
are the very reverse. But worse, they live in con- 
formity with the delusion, and thus, step by step, in- 
volve themselves in wretchedness and ruin. Occa- 
sionally a glimpse of truth will flash across their 
minds, but they will repel it with a sort of indigna- 
tion; and by calculating their effects at twice their 
real value, they will make a balance-sheet just to suit 
their purposes. And when, too, things can go on no 
longer, and the avalanche of debt and responsibility 
comes rushing down upon them, they are, or assume 
to be, overwhelmed with astonishment, and cannot 
discover the cause. They had deceived themselves so 
long, and with such an extraordinary degree of perti- 
nacity, that they could scarcely recognize the fact, 
even in the hour of adversity. But there are others 
again who are in the other extreme. They can count 
their fortunes by thousands and tens of thousands, 
have enough and to spare, yet they labor under the 
constant apprehension of want. Some calamity seems 
to impend over them, and thus they toil on year after 
year, ever saving and accumulating, until at last, re- 
morseless Death, as if impatient for his prey, strikes 
them into the grave. There are few of us who do not 



THE SELF-DECEIVED. 181 

deceive ourselves into the belief that we are much bet- 
ter, in a moral sense, than we really are. "We are 
much more liberal and benevolent in theory than in 
practice. We manifest the liveliest sympathy for the 
sufferings of our fellow-creatures in words rather than 
deeds. We are constantly making mental reservations 
and promises, but, alas! there the matter too often 
ends. We are indebted to this friend for a courtesy 
and to that for a kindness, and we determine to recip- 
rocate at the first opportunity. But the auspicious 
moment is permitted to pass by, and the affair is for- 
gotten. We deceive ourselves daily and hourly. We 
charge upon others faults and errors that exist only 
in ourselves, and we discover blemishes and defects 
without making due allowance for education, asso- 
ciation, example, and the power of circumstances. 
In too many cases we decide according to passion, 
prejudice, and self-interest, and then persuade our- 
selves that the judgment is based on reason, right, 
and justice. Who, indeed, is not more or less self- 
deceived ? Look into your own heart, gentle reader ; 
investigate your motives, analyze your character, and 
lay bare your thoughts to the searching eye of con- 
science, and then admit, atone, amend and reform. 
" Know thyself," is the apothegm of a celebrated an- 
cient sage ; and it is a knowledge that too few of us 
acquire, and practically illustrate and exemplify. 
11 



Qe gri# £to anb |{ grit. 

" All's for the best ! be sanguine and cheerful ; 

Trouble and sorrow are friends in disguise ; 
Nothing but Folly goes faithless and fearful ; 

Courage forever is happy and wise ; 
All for the best — if a man could but know it ; 

Providence wishes us all to be blest ; 
This is no dream of the pundit or poet ; 

Heaven is gracious, and— All's for the best !" 

THEEB are some persons in the world who are 
never satisfied. They are discontented in spirit, 
perverse by nature, and gloomy of constitution. The 
dark side of life always presents itself to them, and 
they can never see the bright. No matter how buoy- 
ant the present, how full of enjoyment, and hope, and 
promise, they are sure to discover some shadow, some 
cloud in the distance, and to speculate in a tone of de- 
spondency and discouragement. The world to them 
has no bright spots, no green and sunny glades, no 
felicitous associations. Every thing is discolored ac- 
cording to the moody spirit within. They mingle in 
the crowd, and criticise, grumble, and complain. They 
are satisfied neither with themselves nor with any body 
else. They detect, even in a condition of high health, 
symptoms of apoplexy, while the slightest cough fore- 
shadows a consumption. Possibly they cannot help 
themselves. They labor under a sort of mental dis- 
ease. They have, perhaps, been disappointed in early 
life, and the bitterness of that hour lingers with them, 
and darkens all their future. Unhappy themselves. > 
(182) 



THE BRIGHT SIDE AND THE DARK. 183 

they seem anxious to make all others unhappy. 
Nothing goes well with them. They have always 
something to complain of. A shadow seems to rest 
upon their path and their prospects, and they live on, 
shiver, and complain, amid its coldness and gloom. 
They have no sympathy with any thing that is not 
miserable. The laugh, of a child annoys them. The 
playful remark of a friend irritates. A jest is regarded 
as an insult ; and thus they wander through the world, 
wretched themselves, and striving all they can to make 
others wretched. What an unhappy condition is this 1 
How unenviable ! How little calculated to soften the 
sorrows of the desolate and despairing, or to adminis- 
ter to the wants of the indigent and afflicted ! Fortu- 
nately these monomaniacs are comparatively few. 
There are many happy contrasts — many buoyant and 
bounding spirits, who go forward cheerfully in storm 
and in sunshine, who pay little attentiou to the re- 
verses of the hour, and who, if compelled to contem- 
plate the dark side of life, do so with reluctance, and 
in any but a desponding spirit. The cheerful-hearted 
are the jewels of society. They impart courage and 
confidence wherever they appear. Their sympathy is 
at once catching and consoling, and thus wherever 
they move they exercise a salutary influence. It is 
better at all times, if possible, to look on the bright side 
of the picture. Let us exert ourselves to the utmost, 
and we shall have difficulty enough in passing through 
this working-day world. But if we give way to de- 
spondency, if we yield our energy and strength before 
the first whirlwind of misfortune, we shall soon dis- 
cover that we have made a sad calculation. Life is 
made up of sunshine and shadow. None can expect 



184 THE BRIGHT SIDE AND THE DARK. 

exemption from trial and vicissitude, and when these 
misfortunes come, they should be encountered with a 
brave spirit, and a determination to deserve better for 
the future. We can conceive of no more noble-hearted 
being, than the individual who goes about encourag- 
ing and consoling, who has a good word on all occa- 
sions, and who endeavors not only to render his own 
pathway as bright and as cheerful as possible, but to 
inspire confidence, hope, and courage in the minds and 
hearts of others. However dark the day may be, he 
sees sunshine in the morrow. Whatever misfortunes 
may surround the present, he encourages the sufferer 
to wrestle in a manly spirit, satisfied that a better and 
brighter season is at hand. He sympathizes with the 
afflicted, and at the same time whispers words of hope. 
The calamity is serious, he admits, " but it might have 
been worse." And then, he argues, " adversity has 
its uses." He shows how poor a dependence man may 
have upon himself, and how necessary is the leliance 
upon Providence. He ever encourages the doctrine 
of " time, faith, and energy." He cites similar cases, 
and shows that the gloom is likely to prove but tem- 
porary, and that change and prosperity will soon come. 
How much better this than the spirit of the croaker! 
Who that has experienced misfortune, does not remem- 
ber with delight, the words of sympathy, the looks of 
encouragement, and the voice of friendship I There 
is scarcely an individual, however prosperous his con- 
dition, who has not his moments of ennui and gloom. 
Trifles disturb and make him wretched. His mind is 
haunted by some strange misgiving, some fearful ap- 
prehension. He cannot describe the why or the where- 
fore, and yet it is so. Let him at such a moment, 



THE BRIGHT SIDE AND THE DARK. 185 

encounter one of a moody and desponding nature, 
such as we have alluded to, and he will almost be 
driven mad. His petty grievances will be magnified 
into* incurable calamities, and his mind will be horri- 
fied by vague forebodings and monstrous apprehen- 
sions. On the other hand, let the cheerful of heart 
and the benevolent of spirit commune and converse 
with him, and the shadows of his mind will flit away 
like the morning clouds before the rising sun. Com- 
mend us, then, on all occasions, to the philanthropist 
and the philosopher, who seeing life as it is, admits its 
clouds and darkness, its error and misfortune, but who 
is always disposed to look at the bright as well as the 
dark side, and to point out the sunny and smiling fea- 
tures of the prospect, rather than to dwell moodily 
upon the sombre and the shadowy, the rocks, shoals, 
and quicksands! 

" All's for the best ! set this on your standard, 

Soldier of sadness, or pilgrim of love, 
Who to the shores of Despair may have wandered, 

A way-wearied swallow, or heart-stricken dove ; 
All for the best !— be a man bnt confiding, 

Providence tenderly governs the rest, 
And the frail bark of His creature is guidinf , 

Wisely and warily, all for the best." 



f% Splits rf Umbiitg #ntV <©fon $ismts& 

" wad some power the giftie gie us, 
To see ourselves as others see us." 

IT is curious to observe the disposition that prevails 
with many people to interfere with the business of 
their neighbors, and to neglect their own. They are 
always on the look-out for something new, some fresh 
piece of scandal, some misrepresentation or calumny, 
and really glow with delight when they are able to in- 
dulge their peculiar propensity. There are in every 
large community, individuals who for years have been 
busily engaged, day in and day out, in hunting up the 
shortcomings of their fellow- creatures, and spreading 
the details before the world in as vivid language as 
possible. The idea of attending to their own business 
never seems to strike them. Their own follies and 
frailties are scarcely noticed at all, and are regarded as 
of no account whatever. But let another take a false 
step, or let any member of a neighboring family com- 
mit an oversight or an error, and the fact is caught up 
with eagerness, is retailed from door to door, and how- 
ever trifling, it is magnified into a grave and serious 
affair. In the great multitude of cases, the successful 
in life are those who attend to their own business, while 
the reverse is exactly the case with the intermeddlers, 
the scandal-mongers, the curiosity-hunters, the mischief- 
makers, and the Paul Prys generally of the hour. And 
how can it be otherwise ? How can a man watch his* 
own affairs thoroughly and properly — how can he at- 
(186) 



MINDING ONE'S OWN BUSINESS. 187 

tend to his own business, fulfil his engagements, and 
discharge his duties, if he be engaged four- fifths of his 
time with the affairs of other people ? The idlers to 
be found at the corners of streets, the loungers of bar- 
rooms, and all the numerous class of do nothings who 
constitute such a pest to society, are for the most part 
to be ranked among the intermeddlers of the time, who 
are on the qui vive for something new and racy, some- 
thing calculated to injure this man's credit, or to 
wound that man's character, something that has merely 
the shadow of truth by way of foundation, but may be 
exaggerated by distortion and perversion, into the 
serious, painful and discreditable. If the good old 
system of minding one's own business, could only be 
recognized and practiced universally, the wheels of so- 
ciety would roll along much more smoothly, there 
would be less unkindness and ill-will in the world, and 
far more comfort, courtesy, true social enjoyment, and 
genuine contentment and happiness. "We are told that 
this country is peculiarly addicted to the infirmity of 
idle curiosity. As a people, we seem to be remark- 
ably meddlesome. The affairs of our neighbors- are 
watched with singular vigilance, and their modes of 
dress, their style of living, their revenue, the very food 
they eat, are constant subjects of comment and criti- 
cism. This is the case, not only in the large cities, 
but in the small towns. It thus becomes necessary to 
live, not as one could wish, not as seems best suited to 
one's family and circumstances, not in conformity with 
true economy and self- independence, but so as to har- 
monize with the views or to escape the animadver- 
sions of the critics and lookers-on outside. And hence 
it is that so many live for others and to satisfy the judg- 



188 MINDING ONE'S OWN BUSINESS. 



ivn 



ment of others, and not in conformity with their own 
views, and for the gratification of their own wishes 
Nay, there are thousands who have gone deliberately 
to ruin, who have sacrificed themselves in fact, rather 
than be subjected to the severe remarks of the curious, 
and prying and intermeddling. In other words, they 
have lived beyond their means, and simply with the 
object of satisfying the many who neglect their own 
business for the purpose of watching over, analyzing 
and speculating upon the affairs of others. In some 
cases, this nuisance of prying, retailing and falsifying, 
becomes intolerable, and the sensitive and diffident are 
absolutely made miserable thereby. Doubtless some 
of oui readers could furnish forcible illustrations. 
Nothing is more annoying than a consciousness that 
some idle and malicious individual is constantly on the 
look-out for an opportunity to misrepresent and ca- 
lumniate — that his disposition is one of animosity and 
malevolence combined, and that in consequence of 
some morbid perversion of the moral nature, the anxi- 
ety and unhappiness of another constitute a source of 
satisfaction to such a specimen of the intermeddling, 
the suspicious, and the malignant. How often does it 
happen that three or four individuals are engaged to- 
gether in confidential conversation, when another 
makes his appearance, listens against all rules of pro- 
priety and gentlemanly breeding, catches up a word 
here and there, and then hastens elsewhere to repeat 
and distort. It is the easiest thing in the world to find 
flaws in the human character. No mortal man is per- 
fect. There are few individuals without their infirm- 
ities, and there are few families without some painful 
associations, some erring member, or some unfortunate 



THE GRUMBLER. 189 

connection. But it is a part of duty, of courtesy, and 
of brotherly good-will, to overlook and avoid all allu- 
sion to such sad features or circumstances. Or, if com- 
pelled to advert to them, to do so in a spirit of for- 
bearance, generosity and magnanimity. Not so, how- 
ever, the intermeddler. His disposition is to make bad 
worse, to exaggerate follies into crimes, to carry dis- 
cord into families that were before tranquil and happy, 
to hunt out forgotten errors and frailties, and recapitu- 
late them in Strong- language — in short, to become a 
pest, a nuisance and a curse to social life. The penalty 
too is fearful for himself. He is certain to be despised 
and contemned, to be disliked and avoided. His own 
affairs will infallibly go behindhand, and his presence 
be avoided like that of a moral pestilence. 



" The faults of others he could well discern, 
Bat not his own." 

HAS the reader never been annoyed by the almost 
perpetual mutterings, fault-findings, forebodings 
and complaints of a confirmed grumbler — one who 
appears to have Argus eyes for the errors and imper- 
fections of others — but who can never discover or ap- 
preciate any merits or accomplishments? If the 
answer be in the negative, we beg leave to offer our 
congratulations. We can conceive of no greater pest 
of society, no more incorrigible bore, no more abomin- 



190 THE GRUMBLER. 

able nuisance, than a constitutional and habitual 
grumbler — one who goes about picking flaws in char- 
acter, taking exception to this opinion or to that, 
always dissatisfied, never comfortable himself, and 
ever disposed to mar the happiness of others. The 
weather is either too hot or too cold, the wind too 
high or too low, business too brisk or too dull, while 
nothing within the range of human vision is exactly 
as it should be or as it might be. A gloom seems to 
have settled upon the mind of the wretched grumbler, 
and thus he sees and views every thing through a 
hazy medium. The success of a friend, instead of 
being a matter of rejoicing, is distorted into some 
perilous piece of misfortune, while some sad prediction 
is made as to the deplorable effects in the future. The 
grumbler, moreover, while ever eager and ready to 
depreciate the efforts of others, is rarely able to equal 
those efforts himself. It is this very consciousness in 
some cases, that induces him to criticize and complain. 
He cannot attain the same degree of skill and per- 
fection, and hence he endeavors to underrate the 
faculty in others. To rind fault is the easiest thing in 
the world; although the quality is most unamiable. 
There are many persons, indeed, who can do little 
else. They go through the world as grumblers. In- 
doors or out, it is the same. They seem to have no 
faculty for appreciation. The kindest act will be ex- 
cepted to. Their best friends will be found fault with. 
No matter how successful in business, they will still 
mutter and evince dissatisfaction. They are not only 
unhappy themselves, but they strive to make all un- 
happy who are dependent upon or live within their in- 
fluence. They get up in the morning, and commence 



THE GRUMBLER. 191 

grumbling, and they continue the annoyance through- 
out the day. Serve them however honestly and faith- 
fully, and they will nevertheless manifest discontent. 
The infirmity is not only unfortunate, but it is vicious. 
The true philosophy of life is to render the path be- 
fore us as smooth and easy as possible, and at the 
same time, to contribute all in our power to the com- 
fort, convenience and prosperity of others. Above all 
things, we should manifest a proper sense of kindness 
and appreciation. We should do unto others as we 
would they should do unto us. What can be more 
ungracious or more ungrateful than coldness or com- 
plaint, on the part of an individual whose fortunes we 
have endeavored to promote, or whose position we 
have exerted our best energies to assist and elevate ? 
The effect, too, must be chilling and depressing. If, 
we are apt to argue, our kindness is misunderstood or 
misap predated, we should, perhaps, be more careful 
for the future. But, we repeat, the grumbler can 
never be satisfied. Nay, we could single out a case, 
in which an individual of this class is so noted for his 
propensity, that all who know him, expect on his ap- 
proach to hear him utter some ill-natured remark, to 
chronicle some misfortune, or to mutter some com- 
plaint. He is either sour, cross, or bitter by nature, 
or he has permitted the habit of grumbling so to grow 
upon him, that he cannot help himself. The disease 
has become chronic, so to speak. It forms part and 
parcel of his character. A kind word from his lips 
would be a novelty — a pleasant smile upon his counte- 
nance, a rare emanation — a cordial grasp of his hand, 
something altogether extraordinary. In what broad 
and happy contrast is the cheerful and contented — 



192 THE GRUMBLER. 

the individual whose heart is a perpetual fountain of 
sunshine and good humor, who is ever ready to say a 
kind thing, or to do a good turn, and who avoids 
every thing that is harsh, malevolent, or calculated to 
wound. The one is a source of constant misery — 
the other of constant pleasure. The one brightens 
and cheers the pathway of life, the other darkens and 
depresses. The one is ever welcome, the other is ex- 
actly the reverse. The one goes through the world 
appreciating and appreciated, pouring balm into the 
wounds of the afflicted, and giving hope and courage 
to the timid, the unfortunate and the despairing, while 
the other seems to delight in making bad worse, and 
in extinguishing by some melancholy foreboding, or, 
distorted and gloomy view, every thing like hope, im- 
provement or prosperity. The deathbed of the grumbler 
must be a scene of misery and apprehension. The 
shadows that have flitted across", and darkened his 
footsteps through life, must assume a deeper hue as he 
is about to shuffle off this mortal coil. The cup of 
misery that he has prepared for others, cannot but 
seem about to be applied to his own lips. He can 
have no joyous recollection of favors rendered, hearts 
gladdened and homes made happy through his influ- 
ence, but bitterness and penitence and remorse must 
surround his dying couch. Life has been to him a 
protracted grumble, and it will expire in an agonized 
groan. The cheerful spirit, on the other hand — the 
benevolent, the generous and the appreciating — will, 
as the evening of the last day comes on, find many 
happy visions flitting through his mind — visions of 
kind things said and good things done; visions of 
buoyant hearts and joyous voices and happy faces 



THE OVERTASKED. 193 

and these will not only take away from the bitterness 
of death, but they will animate and nerve the soul in 
its onward flight to the upward regions of eternity. 
The good that we do here will not only live with us, 
and accompany us to the portals of the grave, but it 
will there plume the wings of the spirit, and convey 
us in hope and in faith to the regions of the blessed. 
His is the desirable fate who, as the things of this 
world fade upon his mortal vision, feels the happy 
consciousness of having contributed to the utmost of 
his ability to the social, moral, rational, and religious 
enjoyment of his friends, his family, and his fellow- 
creatures, — who, in brief, is confident and conscious 
that he has appreciated the kindness of others, and 
has never committed the injustice of complaint with- 
out sufficient cause. 



%\t (Bfortasfetfc; or, % Utoral Sracik 

" Life ill preserved, is worse than basely lost." 

WE have often thought that if a careful and philo- 
sophical examination could be made of the 
bills of mortality, it would be found that a large num- 
ber of those who are chronicled as having died of the 
ordinary diseases to which human flesh is heir, were, 
in fact, directly or indirectly, moral suicides. In other 
words, they knew that they were sinking — they felt 
that the energy and strength of the physical frame were 
departing — they were satisfied that they needed re- 



194 THE OVEKT ASKED. 

pose, relaxation, and a chance to recuperate ; and yet, 
so wedded were they to " the things of this world," so 
yearning and restless was their desire for gain, that 
they could not take time to pause and rest on the high- 
way of toil, and only discovered when too late, that 
the sources of human existence were impoverished, 
that the cords of life were irreparably broken ! They 
overtasked their powers, overworked their energies, 
physical and mental, struggled on day after day, and 
month after month, even against the appeals of their 
better reason, and at last were compelled to repair to 
the couch of sickness, unnerved, unmanned, disabled, 
never to rise again. This is the case with hundreds 
who have " enough and to spare," who have been suc- 
cessful in a worldly sense, but who commit three great 
mistakes : First, the error of procrastination. They 
feel the need of rest, repose, and relaxation, but they 
postpone until to-morrow, and to-morrow, forgetful or 
unmindful of the constant decay of nature, and of the 
slow but certain exhaustion of the human powers. In 
the second place, they cannot realize the idea, that they 
have " enough." With every fresh accumulation, the 
desire strengthens for " a little more." Their wishes 
are not bounded by moderation and contentment, but 
they become, even unconsciously to themselves, grasp- 
ing, ambitious, and avaricious. In the third place, 
they deem " all men mortal but themselves ;" and thus 
they do not contemplate as they should, " the inevi- 
table hour," when they will be called upon to pay 
"Nature's last great debt." Ever and anon, too, they 
are admonished, either by sickness, or death in their 
very midst, by a sudden summons given to the strong 
and apparently long-lived, or by the passing away of 






THE OVEKTASKED. 195 

those who are stricken in years. But they are so ab- 
sorbed in the things of this life, so devoted to the one 
great object of accumulation, that they can scarcely 
devote a sufficient season to the ordinary observances 
of grief, when a member of the family circle, a near 
and dear relative is taken away, but apparently impa- 
tient at this interference with, and interruption of their 
ordinary pursuits, they chafe, become fretful, and rush 
on with more impatience than ever, as if to make up 
for lost time. Is not this a faithful picture ? Are 
there not many within the limits of a great city like 
this, who at the present moment are absolutely hasten- 
ing their footsteps to the grave, and thus committing 
-moral suicide, — who either forget the frailty and falli- 
bility of human nature, or who, so devoted to objects 
merely pecuniary, lose all proper consideration of 
every other matter, to the sacrifice of the priceless 
blessing of health, and to the shortening of human 
life ? A striking case passed under our observation a 
few years since. An active and indefatigable young 
merchant was engaged in a particular line of business, 
which although highly profitable, tasked his mental 
and physical energies to the utmost. His health was 
feeble, and always had been, and of this he was fully 
aware. He was rapidly accumulating a fortune ; nay, 
at the age of thirty, had realized a hundred thousand 
dollars. His business increased and was increasing, 
his profits were every year becoming larger, and the 
temptation was indeed strong. But with this increase 
of wealth came also an increase of effort. The strain 
upon his mind was immense. At times he repaired 
to his home, exhausted, weary, and faint. He felt that 
he needed relaxation, and was so advised by his friends 
12 



196 THE OVERTASKED. 

and physicians. Nevertheless the golden phantom 
fascinated and bewildered, and the charm of accumu- 
lating thousands was irresistible. And thus he post- 
poned the season of repose and the means of remedy 
from time to time, until at last, and before he had reached 
his thirty-fifth year, he was seized with an illness that 
soon attacked his lungs, and after lingering for 
months, and resorting to every possible remedy, he fell 
a martyr to his devotion to business ! And there are 
hundreds such at this moment, in every leading me- 
tropolis of the Union. The great mistake is, that men 
either overestimate or overtask their strength. The 
consequences, in a great majority of cases, are prostra- 
tion, disease, and death. The human machine is capa- 
ble of only certain exertions. The human mind and 
the human body have their limits. Both may be over- 
worked, both over-excited, both exhausted and pros- 
trated. Employers should remember these truths, and 
govern themselves accordingly. There is a season for 
all things, and the faithful who labor day in and day 
out, in the workshop, in the factory, in the counting- 
room, or in any other position or capacity, should be 
regarded and treated, not like beasts of burden, or 
with less consideration than the kind-hearted drayman 
treats his horse, but in a spirit at once kindly, humane, 
sympathetic, and appreciating. Life has its various 
positions, duties, and responsibilities, and just in the 
degree that we manifest liberality, confidence, kind- 
ness, and respect toward those who look up to and 
depend upon us, — those who, employed by, serve us 
faithfully— so may we claim the exercise of the like 
qualities from others, and anticipate an immortal re 
muneration in the world to come. 






9f\t <%nn cf Pnmtr; or, fa, §xm, 

" To move with easy though with measured pace, 
And show no part of study but the grace." 

" So gently blending courtesy and art, 
That wisdom's lips seem formed of friendship's heart.' 

THEEE is nothing so well calculated to touch and 
win as a graceful manner. It serves to embellish 
and beautify the outward man, and in some degree to 
adorn and dignify not only the social but the intel- 
lectual character. What polish is to the diamond 
manner is to the individual. It heightens the value 
and the charm. One of easy manner, always quiet, 
graceful and self-possessed — always bland, courteous 
and captivating, cannot fail to secure friends, and 
make a favorable impression. "What indeed is more 
delightful in youth than a manner which at once 
acknowledges respect for age, indicates modesty and 
discretion, and at the same time is free from the awk- 
ward and uncouth air which too often defaces and dis- 
figures. A polished manner is essential to every true 
gentleman. He must not only understand and be 
able to govern himself, but he must appreciate the 
feelings, the circumstances and the position of others. 
It is, moreover, quite an easy task to be affable and 
courteous when once the habit is permitted to grow, 
and thus become identified with character. In the 
course of an Address that was recently delivered at 
!2 (197) 



jl98 the charm of manner. 

the Anniversary of the State Normal School at Al- 
bany, Dr. Horatio Potter contended that manner should 
be a leading feature in education. He described it as 
,he " outward expression of the mind, not merely of 
its knowledge or strength of reason, but of the degree 
to which it has been softened and humanized by cul- 
ture, and of the point which it occupied in the scale 
between barbarism and perfect civilization." And 
this is emphatically true. How often are we carried 
away by the force of first impressions! A single look 
will sometimes linger in the soul for years. "We may 
have heard of an individual again and again, have be- 
come familiar with his heart and character, by letter 
or through the representations of others, and have 
thus formed a sort of friendship or attachment, - and 
yet much of this may be dissipated at a single inter- 
view, through the influence of an awkward, mal- 
apropos, uneasy and ungraceful manner. Who cannot 
point out some young gentleman of his acquaintance 
who is perpetually blundering into difficulties, dilem- 
mas, and awkward predicaments, simply in conse- 
quence of an abrupt, brusque, uncouth and inelegant 
manner! He can neither stand at ease, walk with 
grace, nor speak with elegance ; and this, too, despite 
the fact that his heart may be good, his mind may be 
well informed, and his acquaintance with the world 
may be comparatively extensive. It is either his mis- 
fortune or his fault to be awkward in manner, and 
this will often prove a stumbling block in life, and 
especially among the fair daughters of Eve, who, in 
such matters, are so observing, so critical, and so 
satirical. These latter qualities are, we are aware, 
unjust and ungenerous under the circumstances, for 






THE CHAKM OF MANNEK. 11 J 

some of the noblest hearts that ever animated the 
human frame are to be found within awkward forms 
and associated with ungainly figures. Better to have 
the principle than the manner — better the heart within 
than the form without. Nevertheless, both are desira- 
ble, and hence we argue in favor of a manner that 
combines ease, grace, courtesy and self-possession — one 
that not only wins respect but that pays it — one that 
expresses by its every movement a proper apprecia- 
tion for the taste, the feelings, and even the prejudices 
and passions of others. Who, for example, that is 
properly cultivated, can admire the coarse, the rude, 
and the violent — the blustering, the insolent, the reck- 
less and the bold ? The manner is in some sense the 
mirror of the mind. It pictures and represents the 
thoughts and emotions within. It indicates not only 
the condition of the intellect, but the spirit of courtesy 
and propriety. u It is," says Dr. Potter, " through the 
manner, more than in almost any other way, that we 
continually impress and influence, favorably or un- 
favorably, those who are about us. We cannot always 
be speaking; we cannot always be engaged in ex- 
pressive action. But even when we are silent, even 
when we are not in action, there is something in our 
air and manner which expresses what is elevated or 
what is low, what is human and benignant, or what is 
coarse and harsh." Let us not be misunderstood. 
We would not have society cold, formal or artificial. 
We would not check or restrain the gushings of a 
guileless heart, or the overflowings of a joyous spirit. 
Still there is a wide difference between the boisterous 
and the frank, between the affected and the genial, 
between the heart that is cultivated and softened by 



200 THE CHAKM OF MANNER. 

education, and the rough nature that exults because it 
is rough. Affectation moreover should be carefully 
guarded against. It is an error of little minds. It is 
a weakness rather than a polish; and yet it is too 
often mistaken by those who indulge in it for the lat- 
ter. The charm of manner consists in its simplicity, 
its ease and its grace. It not only becomes, but it 
adorns. It not only beautifies, but it subdues and 
wins. Take two persons, for example, who are equal 
in other respects. Let them be of similar positions in 
life — equal in fortune, equal in good looks, and like 
in disposition. But let them differ broadly and dis- 
tinctly in manner, and the contrast will strike every 
beholder. There are, indeed, many who cannot enter 
a room, where half a dozen individuals, male and 
female, are assembled — without displaying some awk- 
wardness, perpetrating some blunder, or uttering some 
mistimed remark. The difficulty with most of such 
is, that they cannot command or control themselves 
They become excited and confused, and this excite- 
ment of the mind extends to the manner and the 
tongue, and induces them very often to render them- 
selves ridiculous. Once in such a dilemma, they go 
on from bad to worse, and in an effort to escape, they 
only get themselves the more involved. How im- 
portant then, the study of manner ! And yet it is 
neglected, almost universally, while some of our 
teachers are themselves any thing but models in this 
respect. The idea of ease and grace in personal de- 
portment, seems never to have entered their minds. 
They forget that the first impression is often made 
through the eye, and hence an awkward boy may be 
ruined, before he has an opportunity to display his 



SPRING AND YOUTH. 201 

mental qualities. According to an old aphorism, 
11 manner maketh the man." We are not disposed to 
go so far, but it is quite certain, nevertheless, that an 
easy, graceful, polished manner, has often been the 
pioneer to position, power, and fortune. 



Spring anb § 0ui|--Cjrar Bttim aittr 
%motmfans. 

" Buds are filling, leaves are swelling, 
Flowers on field and bloom on tree ; 
O'er the earth, and air, and ocean, 
Nature holds her jubilee." 
t 

THE spring-time of the year and the spring-time of 
life have many resemblances. The one is to a 
certain extent emblematic of the other. The budding 
flower and the budding form — how fresh, rosy, and 
redolent of all that is fragrant and lovely I What is 
more joyous, careless and beautiful than childhood. 
How in the morning of life, t^e present alone is recog- 
nized and appreciated, and the bounding school-boy 
hurries home, his daily lessons conned and his task of 
toil completed, utterly regardless of the morrow, and 
the coming cares of the future ! The world to him is 
bounded within narrow limits. He has few wishes, 
few desires, few objects of pursuit, and fewer anxieties. 
The rosy light of hope kindles in his eye, and adorns 
and brightens all that that eye rests upon. A well- 
spring of pleasure gushes from his heart, and thus the 



202 SPRING AND YOUTH. 

morning hours of life, like the sunny scenes of spring, 
glide pleasantly and rapidly away. And so, step by 
step, until he attains the years of manhood ; and even 
then it often happens, that the buoyant spirit still lives 
and lingers, and the world, its chances and its changes, 
are regarded in a cheerful rather than a desponding 
spirit ; and pleasure is sought in a thousand fairy but 
sometimes deceptive retreats. It is well that it is so. 
The ways of Providence are full of mystery and wis- 
dom. Better that the future of this world, the many 
and the varied scenes of life, should be concealed from 
us by an impenetrable curtain, especially in the golden 
hours of youth. It is proper, too, that that happy 
season should be enjoyed. Care, and pain and anxiety 
will come soon enough, and should not therefore be 
anticipated. The spring-time of the year has just 
commenced. The fields are already green, and soon 
the buds will burst and the flowers will bloom. The 
woods are vocal with the songs of birds, and the air is 
balmy with the rich breath of nature. 

" O'er the moisten'd fields 
A tender green is spread ; the hladed grass 
Shoots forth exuberant: th' awaking trees, 
Thaw'd by the delicate atmosphere, put forth 
Expanding buds ; while with mellifluous throat, 
The warm ebullience of internal joy, 
The birds hymn forth a song of gratitude 
To Him who shelter'd when the storms were deep, 
And fed them through the winter's cheerless gloom." 

But how many who live in crowded cities, who are 
penned up, as it were, within brick walls, have no 
adequate idea of running streams, teeming gardens, 
grassy valleys, and the many other tempting scenes 
of this delightful season of the year ! How few wander 



SPRING AND YOUTH. 203 

forth to commune with nature, and to direct their 
thoughts to the Great Architect of the Universe, whose 
hand bends the gorgeous bow and paints the tiny 
flower ! And yet it is well to go abroad occasionally, 
to forget for awhile the busy haunts of men, and to 
revel in contemplation among the quiet scenes and the 
touching sights of nature. With man there is but 
one spring. Childhood and youth, once departed, 
never return. The flowers of life, once withered, can- 
not be revived, and made to glow and flush again 
with their early tints, and give forth their morning 
sweets. Not at least in this world. But Nature 
teaches us in the return of the seasons, and in the 
renovation of all her works, that the apparently dead 
may be quickened with new life. And so the mortal 
may become immortal. The perishing here may be- 
come eternal hereafter. 

The thoughtless are apt to regard the changes in 
the seasons with apathy and indifference. Nevertheless 
life has its changes as certain and as unerriug. Man 
has his spring, his summer, his autumn, and his 
winter. But these are not so palpable, because the 
progress is less rapid, and all are so thoroughly de- 
voted to the pursuits of the world, that few have the 
time to pause, reflect and contemplate the prospect. 
Nay, there are some who delude themselves with the 
belief that the winter of age and of death will never 
come, or at least they act if such were the impression. 
Alas ! for the folly, and yet how widely it prevails 
Year after year glides by, and each record of its de- 
parture only brings us nearer to the grave. And yet 
how many shrink from the fact, and not only shrink 
from it, but avoid its obligations and responsibilities. 



204 SPRING AND YOUTH. 

The spring-time of the year and the spring-time of life 
are, or should be, joyous and happy seasons ! 

All whose eyes rest on these lines may not realize 
both, but there are few who may wander abroad when 
"the leaf is in the bud and the bud is on the bough," 
without feeling the influence of the season in every 
vein, without enjoying the spirit of Nature, if we may 
so express it, without reflecting upon the wonderful 
process, by which the earth is made to yield forth its 
many fruits for the use of man, — without casting the 
eye and the mind upward, with a sense of gratitude 
and of awe, at the inconceivable wisdom, skill and 
power of Providence. A ramble in the fields, and 
through the woods, or a clamber up the mountain side 
at this budding and gushing season of the year, cannot 
but prove healthful, as well for the mind as the body. 
" God made the country, but man made the town ;" 
and if we look only to the workmanship of man, we 
shall be apt to forget the mighty wonders of the 
Universe, and the countless mysteries of the great 
Creator. On the one hand, all is bustle, life, activity, 
and the pursuit of mammon. Each individual jostles 
against his neighbor, and seems to have no idea, no 
object, but the gain, the position, and the power of this 
earth. On the other, nature is outspread in many a 
tempting form, and hill, and rock, and tree, and valley 
enchant the eye, refresh the mind, and lead to thought- 
ful and salutary reflections. How many who were 
here last Spring will never see another on this earth ! 
They have gone like the early flowers ; but may we 
not hope that they will revive in another sphere, and 
wander through fields and amid scenes that are not 
only bright and glorious, but everlasting ! 



SUICIDE. 205 

•Look Nature through ; 'tis revolution all, 
All change— no death. Day follows night, and night 
The dying day. Stars rise, and set, and rise ; 
Earth takes the example. See, the Summer, gay 
With her green chaplets and amhrosial flowers, 
Droops into pallid Autumn ; Winter gray, 
Horrid with frost, and turhulent with storm, 
Blows Autumn with his golden fruits away — 
Then melts into the Spring ; 6oft Spring, with breath 
Favonian, from warm chambers of the South, 
Recalls the first. All, to reflourish, fades ! 
As in a wheel, all seeks to reascend, 
Emblems of man, who passes, not expires I " 






j$mdk-®Je §nta Uttwjrant 

" Teach me my days to number, and apply 
My trembling heart to wisdom." — Young. 

THE frequency of suicide is exciting more than or- 
dinary attention. Scarcely a day goes by that 
some fatal catastrophe of the kind is not recorded. In 
some cases love, in others jealousy, in others poverty, 
and in others intemperance is designated as the cause. 
A day or two since we noticed a statement in a New 
York paper, to the effect that a poor girl, a seamstress, 
had, in a moment of despair, attempted to take her own 
life, because of poverty and a want of employment. 
Truly, a hard case. Is it not possible to devise some 
means of prevention, some benevolent, or other insti- 
tution calculated to rescue the children of want, and 
prevent them from plunging rashly into another world ? 
There are moments in the life of almost every indi- 
vidual, when the future of this world seems dark and 
ray less, when Fortune appears to have utterly aban- 



206 SUICIDE. 

doned, and Misery chosen us as his unchanging com- 
panions. At such times, the fiends of despair and 
crime irritate and madden, and the weak and irreso- 
lute, in utter folly, shrink from the realities before 
them, to brave a condition of being of which they can 
only imagine. The suicide is, in most cases, an ob- 
ject of the deepest commiseration. He is, of course, 
mad for the time being, and often too, his excitement 
and despair are not the fruits of his own conduct, but 
of the baseness and falsehood of others. If, while la- 
boring under melancholy forebodings, the unfortunate 
and moody-minded could only be won for a few hours, 
or a few days, to some cheerful train of thought, could 
be induced to turn aside from the demons of the mind, 
and disregard their terrible promptings, — could be as- 
sisted by the voice of Hope, by some friendly counsel 
or more substantial aid, the cloud would soon disap- 
pear, the mind brighten, and the pathway of life seem 
again clothed in flowers and bathed in sunshine. 

Persons in good circumstances, who have never ex- 
perienced the gnawings of want, who have never felt 
the bitterness of poverty and disease, who have never 
been pointed at with scorn because of some false step 
on the part of themselves or their immediate relatives, 
who know nothing of the taunts and mockings of a 
heartless world, can form no adequate idea "of the 
mental misery of the thousands of the children of mis- 
fortune — of the horrors of those who rise from a 
sleepless pillow, and know not where they shall obtain 
bread for the next twenty -four hours. The newspa- 
pers, day after day, teem with accounts of suicides. 
To many, the brief record is attached — "Cause un- 
known." Alas! for the victim, the wretched self- 



SUICIDE. 207 

murderer ! "W ho may tell his or her struggle ? Who 
may describe the tenacity with which life was clung 
to until hope itself seemed dead, and all was dark and 
desolate. Who may paint in adequate colors, the 
breaking heart, the blighted prospect, the desertion, 
the abandonment, the wrong, the outrage? Poverty 
may have come suddenly, and with its grim and re- 
pellant visage, summer friends, as is too often the case, 
may have first grown cold, then harsh or blind to the 
unfortunate. Ah ! how bitter to see the companions of 
our youth pass us by, as if we were strangers, or point 
to us with looks of derision, contempt or hear tlessn ess! 
A few years since, and there flourished in the city 
of Philadelphia, a leading merchant, with a fortune, as 
the world supposed, of at least one hundred thousand 
dollars. But suddenly he failed, and under circum- 
stances not very reputable. He was a weak man and 
the blow prostrated him utterly. He became intem- 
perate, and reduced his family, consisting of a wife 
and three daughters to the very verge of beggary. The 
latter had been among the most dashing of our belles, 
nay among the most frivolous, thoughtless and heart- 
less. In their day of wealth and pride, they made few 
friends — for then, money was their god, and they looked 
with contempt upon all who were not at least their 
equals in fortune. — Thus, when the reverse came, few 
pitied and many exulted. The change was indeed 
fearful to them, and its consequences were truly de- 
plorable. They could not bear up against the sudden 
reverse, for they had not been taught the sublime 
philosophy of the Christian, had neglected the means 
of education that had been so lavishly provided for 
them, and although fashionable and flippant, were idle 



208 SUICIDE. 

and illiterate. One — the elder — fortunately escaped a 
wretched fate, by becoming the wife of a worthy store- 
keeper ; but the others fell still lower than their father ; 
and one, — while still young and beautiful — in a mo- 
ment of agony and despair, resorted to the fearful 
crime which is the subject of our article. Only five 
years intervened from the period at which she was a 
dashing belle, and that in which she was the tenant of 
a miserable hovel in the lower part of the city, and 
then — A suicide ! The other still lives, but she is 
morally dead. And yet we verily believe that both 
would have been saved, had some generous spirit 
stepped forward in the hour of their adversity, assisted, 
cheered, and advised. But at this moment, doubtless 
there are many of the children of poverty and misfor 
tune — the victims of treachery and desertion — the oc- 
cupants of the narrow alleys and obscure by-ways of 
our metropolis — pondering over their woes, meditating 
upon their misery, and hesitating as to the crime of 
self-murder. Yes, many, who if sought out, consoled, 
cheered and encouraged, could still be saved ! What 
a noble work for philanthropy ! What a redeeming 
employment for those who in early life were among the 
dissolute and the guilty, and who yet are spared for 
penitence and reparation 1 






% §terap of Jraie. 

NO subject perhaps is more trite than Home and 
its enjoyments. People are constantly discussing 
the blessings of domestic life, and the happiness to be 
found within the limits of a well-regulated family cir- 
cle. And yet we fear that the multitude pay little 
attention to the essential elements of home life, to the 
thousand apparently unimportant acts of kindness and 
good-will, the examples of temper, language and pro- 
priety, which, in the aggregate, constitute the true 
beauty and real blessings of home. The infirmities of 
temper are a great drawback upon domestic happiness. 
We have known a calm and cheerful circle engaged 
in pleasant and instructive conversation, disturbed and 
excited in a moment, as it were, by the unhappy in- 
troduction of some forbidden topic, and the consequent 
irritation produced in some morbid, prejudiced, and 
irritable mind. Pleasure has instantly been converted 
into pain, and however confused or abashed the au- 
thors of the evil, they have found themselves unable 
for the time to repair the error. The "domestic 
demon," as the foul fiend of an unquiet disposition has 
been forcibly termed, is perhaps the source of a greater 
amount of infelicity than any other evil. The worst 
feelings of our nature are called into play by fits of 
peevishness, perverseness, and anger, which mere 
trifles will sometimes produce, and the influence of 
which is felt for weeks and months. The home that 

(209) 



210 THE BLESSINGS OF HOME. 

is annexed by this evil spirit, resembles any thing but 
an earthly paradise. We have a case in our mind at 
the present time, in which an almost perpetual condi- 
tion of misery is kept up, by a disposition to domineer 
and control on the one hand, and to resist on the 
other. Arguments and quarrels are constant, the pas- 
sions are frequently inflamed and excited, and under 
the influence of these things, language is uttered and 
threats are made of the most revolting kind, as ex- 
amples for children. The parties, as is usual in such 
cases, charge each other with originating the trouble, 
and thus frequently, after burying the hatchet, get up 
a new feud in their efforts to find out who was really 
wrong in the first place. How many a man has been 
driven from his home, and from all the endearments 
of domestic life, by the Xantippe-like tongue of a per- 
petual scold I How many a drunkard has been induced 
to visit the tavern in the first place, in order to escape 
the troubled atmosphere of his own dwelling, and the 
constant reproaches, merited perhaps, but not the less 
galling, of a too irritable and too vindictive partner ! 
On the other hand, how many a gentle spirit has been 
crushed and broken by the brutal and ruffian remarks 
of some tyrant husband ! How gradually, but with a 
change far too rapid, has the idol object of "Love's 
first dream," degenerated into a cold, selfish, and in- 
different husband. In these cases, home soon loses its 
charm ; and instead of being a haven from the cares 
and vicissitudes of the out-door world, it becomes the 
scene of bitter recriminations, painful and deplorable 
contentions. Well and forcibly has it been observed, 
by one who has studied human nature thoroughly 
that " the multitude of our smiles and kindly feelings 



THE BLESSINGS OF HOME. 211 

should be kept for the inmates of home ; while the 
world should receive those only which could be spared 
without serious loss." " The great end of prudence," 
observes another, "is to give cheerfulness to those 
hours which splendor cannot gild, and acclamation 
cannot exhilarate — those soft intervals of unbended 
amusement in which a man shrinks to his natural di- 
mensions, and throws aside the ornaments or disguises 
which he feels in privacy to be useless incumbrances, 
and to lose all effect when they become familiar. To 
be happy at home is the ultimate result of all ambi- 
tion, the end to which every enterprise and labor 
tends, and of which every desire prompts prosecution. 
It is* indeed at home that every man must be known 
by those who would make a just estimate of his virtue 
or felicity, for smiles and embroidery are alike occa- 
sional, and the mind is often dressed for show in 
painted honor and fictitious benevolence." 

We may be certain, therefore, that there is some- 
thing wrong in the disposition, the habits and the 
morals of the man, or the woman either, who does not 
turn eagerly to home, whose thoughts are not constantly 
directed thither, when not engrossed by the ordinary 
avocations of life, who shuns his home as something 
unpleasant, who is ever eager to find a pretext for 
hastening away, or who, when away, manifests no de- 
sire to return. Our civilization and our religion ren- 
der it a duty for us to make home as much as 
possible, the sunniest spot on earth. We are bound 
to exert all our powers for the happiness of the beings 
confided to our care, and the richest reward for such 
a course may be found in the approving whispers of 
the " still small voice" within. Our example, whether 
13 



212 THE TIME TO RETIRE. 

of language, of temper, or of manner, is sure in the 
sphere in which we move, to produce evil or good re- 
sults. If, therefore, in our offspring we discover the 
fruits of virtuous precepts — if we see their thoughts 
and their footsteps inclining to virtue and rectitude, 
the reward is indeed a glorious one. 



W$ Wmt to $ktb.~-% Ipjjikopljg of 
Contentment 

"Inglorious lags the veteran on the stage." 

IT was some time since announced that a distin- 
guished member of the bar in a neighboring city, 
had determined to withdraw from professional life, 
satisfied that he had reached the " turning point of his 
career," and at the same time conscious that he could 
not longer labor with safety to his general health. He 
had, moreover, accumulated enough, and he was dis- 
posed to move through the world with comparative 
ease, for the remainder of his days. A wise decision, 
and one that is rarely made ! Indeed, the many seem 
to be unconscious of the truth that there is a limit to 
physical and mental effort, and a bound to human ex- 
istence ; and hence it is that few can be induced to 
retire at the proper moment — or withdraw, when they 
may do so with honor, safety, comfort, and inde- 
pendence. 

How often, indeed, does it happen that men outlive 



THE TIME TO RETIRE. 213 

their influence, their fortune and their reputation, sim- 
ply because they are too selfish, too vain, too fond of 
the cheap applause of their fellows ! How few know 
themselves, or are willing to acknowledge that they 
are failing, mentally or physically — that they are not 
looked up to in the same manner as in former times — 
that they are, in fact, in the decline of life, slowly but 
inevitably descending in the scale of importance among 
men. Go into society — mingle with the out-door 
world — mix with the merchants and brokers at the 
Exchange — and you will find, it is true, some of the 
old, shrewd, and cautious, who are able to cope with 
their younger and more energetic brethren ; but many 
who have outlived their palmy day, their vigor of 
thought, activity and manhood — who are part and 
parcel of another age, but cannot see themselves as 
they are, or be induced to relinquish their places to 
the more active footsteps that are treading behind and 
around them. It is difficult, indeed, for the multitude 
who are merely worldly, whose wishes, hopes, and as- 
pirations are too often bound to perishing and temporal 
things, to release their grasp upon any source of gain, 
to abandon the hope of any means of wealth. A case 
in forcible illustration came under our observation a 
few years since. An old gentleman of this city, who 
had been in business for nearly half a century, as an 
extensive hardware merchant, was at last compelled 
by ill health, to retire. He had but one son in the 
world, who was in the same business in a neighboring 
city. His means were limited, and his family con- 
sisted of a wife and several small children. He knew 
that his father was rich, and had looked forward for 
years to the period at which he would resign his busi- 



214 THE TIME TO RETIRE. 

ness into his hands, transfer to him his stock, and per- 
haps a few thousand dollars, by way of giving the 
trade a new impulse. But imagine his surprise, when 
he was told by the father, that he had an offer for the 
stand and the stock, and that he had determined to dis- 
pose of them, unless his son would give the same terms. 
This, be it remembered, by a rich man upward of seventy 
years of age, and with no near relative in the world 
but the son alluded to. But he had been so long ac- 
cumulating, had become so devoted to his treasure, 
that he could not bear to part with even a dollar while 
alive, although his revenue was more than amply ade- 
quate to keep a splendid establishment. The son hesi- 
tated at the proposition, attempted to modify the 
terms, but at last, as a measure of policy, consented. 

Cases of a like character are by no means rare. The 
way in which money is clung to by many individuals 
who are on the verge of the grave is really surprising. 
They seem to fancy that they will live forever. At 
fifty they hesitate ; at sixty they do the same thing, 
and thus they totter on, until Death at last snatches 
them away, in the midst of their gold and their worldly 
affairs. It seems to us that after a man accumulates 
what is considered an independence, or enough where- 
with to retire to private life, the appetite for further 
wealth increases rather than diminishes. Avarice is, 
indeed, the vice of age. Money is regarded as the 
source of power, and it is too often so employed rather 
than as the means of happiness. Thus it is, that so 
few retire from business at the right time. And this 
remark will apply to almost every kind of pursuit. 
Only yesterday we passed two old gentlemen in the 
street, who are now poor and dependent, each of 



THE CONDUCT OF LIFE. 215 

whom, at the age of fifty, was worth at least one hun- 
dred thousand dollars. But they were unwilling to retire, 
they sought " a little more," a panic came, " they were 
forced into the whirlpool," and soon after were bank- 
rupts. And even now, how many are there in Phila- 
delphia, the possessors of large fortunes, who are 
grasping and greedy, who are unwilling to recede into 
retirement and safety, whose golden dreams are wild 
and extravagant as avarice can possibly make them. 
At public meetings, too, how rare is the case in which. 
an orator times his remarks, talks up to the enthusi- 
asm of his auditors, closes with a climax, and retires 
with good taste. The many are deceived with a little 
applause, fancy that their eloquence is most seductive, 
exhaust the patience of the listener, and finally neu- 
tralize the very effect which they sought to produce. 
Talent is a good thing, but tact is better. The one, 
according to an old adage, beats the bush, while the 
other catches the bird. 



% Cflnkd of fife. 

" Be calm, be firm, be true, aud then 
The future will be thine." 

THERE are few individuals who, on a review of 
their conduct for a few weeks, or even a few days, 
do not discover that they have committed serious mis- 
takes. We are all, more or less, the creatures of circum- 
stances, and even those who fancy that they have be- 



216 THE CONDUCT OF LIFE. 

come thoroughly familiar with the policy of self-gov- 
ernment, and are thus able to command and control 
themselves, ever and anon discover that they have 
been guilty of some error of omission or commission. 
It is difficult, nay, it is impossible, to keep constant 
watch and guard upon our lips, our impulses, our 
feelings and our actions. And if we were able to do 
so, we should become so cold, artificial and mechan- 
ical, that the more generous features of our heart 
and disposition would be completely neutralized. 
Nevertheless, some system of restraint is absolutely 
essential, and it cannot be inculcated and practiced too 
soon. There is not an individual in the whole family 
of man, who can look back upon his past life without 
discovering many delinquencies, moral, social and do- 
mestic. These, too, in most cases, were errors of haste 
or of passion, and yet they embittered the mind and 
heart, not only for hours but for years. What, then, 
should be our rule and policy? How should we 
so deport ourselves as to avoid offence to others and 
annoyance to ourselves ? These questions cannot be 
answered very readily ; and yet their importance must 
be apparent to every intelligent and reflecting mind. 
One thing at least we may do. "We may institute 
a course of self-examination, and thus ascertain, if 
possible, our tendencies, inclinations and infirmities, 
for all have more or less of these. Let us once dis 
cover and admit these defects of character — let us, in 
short, become acquainted with ourselves, and then we 
may with the more confidence of success, attempt to 
check, restrain and control. The errors of impulse, of 
passion, and of prejudice are of almost hourly occurs 
rence. We not only forget ourselves, but what is due 



THE CONDUCT OF LIFE. 217 

to others. If, moreover, every individual would, at the 
beginning of the year, deeicle upon and keep constantly 
in view, some particular line of social policy and moral 
duty, many anxieties and difficulties would be avoided. 
But the world moves on so rapidly, the hum of trade 
is so constant, and the objects in pursuit are so numer- 
ous, that we !ia-ve no time to pause and think, or at 
least we fancy so. How difficult, indeed, is the task of 
saying No, even when such a course is enjoined as a 
duty. And how often do we say Yes, in an hour of ex- 
citement and temptation, when we should hesitate and 
keep silent. This is the case more or less with all. 
How easy, moreover, is it to promise, without having 
the ability, or even the disposition to perform. — Or, 
we may be honest and sincere at the time, and yet 
reflection or circumstances may show that we over- 
estimated our resources, or deceived ourselves. Sir 
Edward Bulwer, the celebrated novelist, in the course 
of an Address which, he delivered some time since, as 
Lord Director of the University of Glasgow, gave 
some excellent advice. " Never," said he, " affect to be 
other than you are, either richer or wiser. Never be 
ashamed to say; ' I do not know.' Men will then be- 
lieve you when you say 'I do know.' Never be 
unwilling to say, whether as applied to time or money, 
1 1 cannot afford it ; I cannot afford to waste an hour 
in the idleness to which you invite me ; I cannot afford 
the guinea you ask me to throw away.' Once establish 
yourself and your conduct in life, as what they really 
are, and your foot is on the solid ground, whether for 
the gradual step onward, or for the sudden spring over a 
precipice. From these maxims another may be deduced : 
Learn to say no with decision, and yes with caution — 



218 THE CONDUCT OF LIFE. 

no with decision, when it resists temptation, and yes 
with caution, whenever it implies a promise. A 
promise once given is a bond inviolable. A man is 
already of consequence in the world, when it is known 
that he can be relied upon. How frequently do we 
see in life, a person preferred to a long list of applicants 
for some important charge, calculated to lift him at 
once into station and fortune, merely because he has 
this reputation — that when he says he knows a thing, he 
knows it j and when he says he will do a thing, he will do 
it." . The above is at once brief, comprehensive, forcible 
and emphatic. We have rarely met with an equal 
amount of sterling advice within such narrow limits, 
and if every reader would give the quotation a place in 
his memory or memorandum-book, with the purpose 
of referring to it from time to time, as he pursues his 
way along the devious paths of life, the result could 
not but be salutary. But in all cases, and under all 
circumstances, we should remember that we are weak, 
infirm, and fallible beings, and that our best efforts 
will prove feeble and inefficient, unless we constantly 
feel and appreciate our dependence upon Divine Provi- 
dence. 



" Knowledge is not virtue." 

A SAD mistake is committed by some parents in 
supposing that by giving their children all the 
advantages of intellectual instruction, they fit them as 
well for the moral as the mental conflicts of the world. 
It is quite as important to educate the heart as the head, 
to imbue the former with noble feelings, generous 
sensibilities, benevolence, kindness and good-will, as 
to store the latter with the beauties of poetry — the dis- 
coveries of science — the apothegms of sages. " Knowl- 
edge did not teach Bonaparte to sacrifice his own de- 
sires to the happiness of any living creature ; it neither 
made Augustus respect the life of Cicero, nor the pupil 
of Aristotle restrain the fury of his passions. Mirabeau, 
the genius of the French revolution, was a monster of 
depravity ; even Eobespierre was a man of education ! 
Knowledge, on the contrary, when undirected by re- 
ligion, is made the servant of vice, and has in all ages 
produced most fearfu consequences." How frequently 
do we find men of superior acquirements, who, by a 
course of integrity, could readily win distinction and 
confer honor on themselves and families, nevertheless, 
because of their moral obliquity, the error of their 
early training, become disfigured by falsehood, vice 
and crime, fall the more signally in consequence of 

(219) 



220 THE MOEAL AND THE INTELLECTUAL. 



their intellectual endowments. A celebrated philoso- 
pher has said that " the mind at our birth is a blank 
sheet of paper, whereon 'circumstances and external 
influences trace various characters." This may not 
be true to the full extent of the expression, but it is 
nevertheless measurably so. We are in many respects 
the creatures of circumstances, of habit, association 
and example. They who mingle in early life in re- 
fined, educated, pure and moral society, will be corre- 
spondingly moulded in character, and find interwoven 
into their nature at least something of the qualities and 
associations referred to. Their tastes will be chastened, 
their habits of thought improved, and their hearts 
purified. The moral as well as the intellectual will 
be influenced and formed. Conceptions of right and 
wrong, of vice and of virtue, of the manly and the 
mean, will be engendered, and these will exercise a 
potent sway upon every hour of after existence. 

Children are being educated morally as well as in- 
tellectually every moment that they live; and inas- 
much as their moral condition is of far more impor- 
tance for their happiness both here and hereafter, than 
their intellectual, a due degree of attention should be 
paid to it. It has been beautifully said that " childhood 
is like a mirror, catching and reflecting images from 
all around it, and that an impious or profane thought, 
uttered by a parent's lips, may operate on the young 
heart like a careless spray of water thrown upon 
polished steel, staining it with rust which no after 
scouring can efface." But how often do parents forget 
this eloquent and admonitory truth! How frequently 
do they sacrifice the moral to the intellectual ! How 
common is it for them to exult at the triumphs of the 



k 



THE MOEAL AND THE INTELLECTUAL. 221 

head, even when they involve the viciousness of • the 
heart! Pertness, impudence, disobedience, are in too 
many cases petted and encouraged — too often regarded 
as commendable qualities, when they should be re- 
buked as exactly the reverse. Compliment on such 
occasions amounts to false and daugerous education. 
It serves to misguide and mislead, to darken and mis- 
direct the moral nature. "Ah!" exclaims a parent, 
" we must overlook this or that vice in a favorite son, 
he is so smart." Again we hear the exclamation: 
" the boy has a restless will of his own, but he will 
nevertheless make a great man, he is so ready-witted.' , 
The error is a common one. Truth, purity and virtue 
are sacrificed, while waywardness, passion and even 
falsehood are indulged. An insolent answer is mis- 
taken for aptness and readiness, and in some cases 
parents, even while they feel the blood mounting to 
their cheeks at insults from children in the presence 
of third persons, will endeavor to gloss over and 
apologize for the outrage by some excuse or affirma- 
tion as to the possession by the offender of remarkable 
intellectual powers. Can we wonder, under these cir- 
cumstances, that so many young men go astray — that 
we hear so frequently of cases of disobedience, of do- 
mestic feuds and all their fearful consequences ? The 
mistake is, that the heart is sacrificed for the head, the 
moral for the intellectual, the essential virtues for the 
more dazzling qualities. Is not this true of your case, 
gentle reader? Have you, fond father or indulgent 
mother, nothing wherewith to charge yourself on this 
score? Are you endeavoring so to educate your sons 
and daughters that they will prefer virtue to power — 
that they will heed the still, small voice within— that 



222 THE SOMBRE HOURS OF LIFE. 

they will recognize their constant dependence upon 
Providence — and when about to finish their earthly 
career will look back with hearts glowing with grate- 
ful recollections, and bless the memory of departed 
parents, whose precepts and examples of morality and 
benevolence, honor and rectitude, were to them as 
lights from within, in every trial and vicissitude of 
life! 






e Bsmkt Hmtrs of fife; or, a Metis 
to % Jtjttftfo 

WE a few days since met with an old friend, who 
appeared to be in great trouble. He had ex- 
perienced a misfortune not of a very serious charac- 
ter, and yet from causes which he could not explain 
even to himself, his spirits were utterly broken. He 
saw nothing but gloom and disaster in the future, and 
life for the time was without a charm to him. "We 
talked and reasoned with him, but in vain. A cloud 
seemed to weigh upon his mind and heart,— a myste- 
rious something appeared to depress him. He said he 
had endeavored, but without success, to rally and ap- 
pear cheerful, and such was his discontent, uneasiness 
and apprehension, that at times he was afraid of him- 
self. He knew, he said, that the disaster which seemed 
the immediate cause of his moodiness of mind, was by 
no means irreparable, and he knew that he had often 
experienced more fearful calamities, and recovered 



THE SOMBRE HOURS OF LIFE. 223 

from them with comparative ease. Nevertheless, for 
a few days, he could not shake off the incubus that 
appeared to be weighing him to the earth. Fortu- 
nately, however, the condition of mind to which we 
have referred, lasted but for a short time, and our 
friend emerged from the gloom as cheerful and buoy- 
ant as ever. Then he was puzzled to understand how 
or why he had been so much depressed. All, at times, 
have their moments of melancholy. Many causes, in- 
visible to the human eye and intelligence, operate upon 
and influence us. Some are doubtless more liable to 
these shadowy influences than others. "With some the 
gloom is darker and deeper, and continues for a longer 
time. But if it were possible for an individual to 
choose at random a hundred citizens from the commu- 
nity, and to analyze their thoughts and feelings, it 
would be seen that the great majority, if not all, are 
sometimes sad without being able to explain why — 
feel lonely, wretched, and full of dark presentiments, 
without being able to discover adequate causes for 
such a state of mind. It is under the influence of such 
feelings, and at times of such depression, that the 
wretched victim of despair, — and often measurably 
causeless — hurries into another world — plunges head- 
long into an eternal state of existence. He thus in the 
hour of madness, seeks to escape the passing and mo- 
mentary shadows of this life. It is not well to gjve 
way to moody imaginings. We should endeavor to 
rouse ourselves, and by exercise, effort, and activity, 
as well of mind as of body, to scare away the fiend of 
ennui — the dark creations of a morbid or unnaturally 
excited imagination. The better qualities of our 
nature, the loftier virtues, the manly energies should 



224 THE SOMBRE HOURS OF LIFE. 

be invoked, and these, with activity and mental em- 
ployment, will soon restore us to a wholesome and 
cheerful condition of thought and reflection. How 
rarely do we find the poor, the hard-working, and the 
toil-worn — even though steeped to the lips in poverty 
— resorting to the criminal act of self-murder. The 
truth is — they are constantly employed, they have no 
idle hours, — they have no leisure for sad reflections ; 
and thus they escape the phantoms to which we have 
referred. If, moreover, when a prey to this disposi- 
tion to despond, we would but visit some of the abodes 
of ^poverty, penetrate the recesses of our almshouses 
and hospitals, and contrast the condition of the depend- 
ent and suffering there collected together, with our 
own — we would indeed be dead to the impulses of 
gratitude, not to acknowledge our superior' blessings 
and enjoyments. The Blind, the Deaf, the Dumb, the 
Deformed — alas! for these children of misfortune. 
Why should we, who can see and hear,— who still 
possess our hands, our arms, and are in good health, 
comparatively speaking, — why should we utter a word 
of lamentation, or murmur for a moment at the de- 
crees of Providence, while so many who are better and 
worthier, are content and cheerful even in conditions* 
that to us seem deplorable. Dependent we all are, 
upon a Superior Being. This dependence should be 
recognized by us in every act of life. The rich man 
of to-day may be a beggar a year hence; while the 
poor and the unfortunate may soon rise into independ- 
ence and even affluence. But all, we repeat, to be happy, 
to be cheerful, to feel an inward consciousness of 
peace, must exercise in the way that seems wises I and 
best, the various faculties given by the Creator,— and 






and 



THE HAESH AND THE HASTY. 225 

must prove mindful of their duties as men, as Christ- 
ians, as human beings whose lives are limited to a 
span, whose to-morrow will be colored and influenced 
by the conduct of to-day — whose future, whether in 
this life or the life to come, will in a certain sense be 
but the sequel of the present state of existence. If, 
moreover, we experience misfortune, let us suppose 
that the visitation is a chastisement designed for our 
own good, intended to arouse us to a sense of our de- 
pendent condition, and to induce us by virtuous medi- 
tations and actions, to deserve exemption from such 
calamities for the future. If our lives were all sun- 
shine, — if Yice received no check, — if Death did not 
occasionally remind us of his presence — how rapid, 
headlong, and. profligate wo*ld be the career of thou- 
sands — ay, of thousands who are restrained, reformed, 
and benefitted, by the very influences to which we 
have adverted. 



%\t Pro| aifo ijje Ifastn; 01; (Error aitb 



One little word, if softly spoken — 
One little tear, if kindly shed — 

Can heal the spirit hraised and broken, 
And cure the heart that long hath bled." 



A FRIEND came to us some days since in evident 
trouble. He said that a few hours before, he 
had been conversing and arguing somewhat warmly 



\2& THE HARSH AND THE HASTY. 



with an old and respected neighbor, and that in the 
heat of the controversy, he had touched a delicate sub- 
ject somewhat harshly, and had thus given pain with- 
out intending to do so, and he sincerely regretted and 
deplored the circumstance. The other evidently felt 
the remark keenly, for the blood mounted to his fore- 
head, and then he became deadly pale, and for a few 
seconds was unable to speak. Seeing the error he had 
committed, and the injury he had inflicted, our friend 
terminated the conversation abruptly, and, as he con- 
fessed, awkwardly enough, but the subject had an- 
noyed him ever*since. What should he do? How 
should he repair his error? He would not for worlds 
have been the source of the agony of mind, the torture 
of feelings, which his unhagpy remark had unwittingly 
caused — but the words had been uttered, and his anx- 
iety now was, to make reparation. After some little 
hesitation, we persuaded him to go immediately to the 
injured individual and tender a manly and generous 
apology. This was done in the proper spirit, and the 
dilemma was at once removed. Cases such as we have 
hinted at, are constantly occurring. Men get excited 
while talking even upon ordinary topics, grow warm 
as they become disputants, say severe things, not in- 
tending them to wound the feelings, but they frequently 
and heedlessly introduce personal matters, or topics 
capable of being construed into insults, and thus anger 
is provoked, retorts are elicited, and bitter feuds are 
caused. It is the manly course on such occasions, on 
reviewing all the facts as calmly as possible, not only 
to admit to ourselves the points in which we have been 
wrong, but to embrace the very first opportunity of 
making a frank, full, and magnanimous atonement: 



Kl,« 



THE HARSH AND THE HASTY. 227 

Such a policy is due by justice, honor, and fair deal- 
ing, and while calculated to relieve our own feelings, 
it will, in a great majority of cases, adjust the diffi- 
culty, and prove a source of sincere pleasure to both 
parties. We are aware that it requires the exercise 
of high moral nerve, to pursue and act under this 
policy. Pride and Selfishness are ever at hand to in- 
terfere, while the demons of mischief and of evil are 
apt to whisper a thousand excuses in palliation of our 
own conduct. Again, many persons are prone to re- 
gard the course alluded to as humiliating; while there 
is a vicious principle in almost every heart, which en- 
deavors to prevent the wrong-doer from making 
atonement,, and indeed in many cases prompts him to 
consider himself as the aggrieved party, and to act ac- 
cordingly. Beware! we say, beware of so fatal, so 
criminal a delusion! Error and crime must be ac- 
counted and atoned for one day, and the sooner we 
relieve our minds and our hearts from the dark 
shadows, the deathless memories which will ever and 
anon arise and haunt us in relation to past and un- 
atoned sins, the better for our own repose, for the 
enjoyment of the present, and the hopes of the future. 
And yet, how few there are who cannot, on looking 
back, find some unadjusted account. How few who 
cannot remember some harsh word, the utterance of 
which caused a pang at the moment, and the recollec- 
tion of which has been permitted to rankle and fester 
ever since. How rare are the instances in which indi- 
viduals have endeavored to make reparation for all the 
offences committed against relatives, friends, and 
society. Who cannot, in the quiet of his own cham- 
ber, in the silence of his own closet, in confidential 
14 



228 THE HAHSn AXD TITE HASTY 

communication with his own mind and heart, point 
out some instance in which injustice was done, deceit 
was practiced, or advantage was taken? The error or 
crime, we know and admit. We feel that in the record 
of our years, as written in the great book, the false 
and vicious conduct alluded to is registered in dark 
and accusing characters — that still the work of atone- 
ment, of restitution, of satisfaction, nay, of justice — is 
unfulfilled. This we confess to ourselves, and occa- 
sionally, too, we enter into an implied compact with 
conscience, to commence the good work at an early 
moment. But month after month — year after year is 
permitted to pass by, and still the dark record is 
allowed to remain. The ghosts of our evil deeds con- 
tinue to haunt us; we feel that we have erred, we 
know that there is a duty still unperformed, and yet 
such is the weakness, the folly, the infirmity of 
human nature, that old age, death, and the grave fre- 
quently steal on, and the errors and sins of youth and 
of middle life, are unatoned for. Have you, gentle 
reader, any sad account of this kind registered against 
you ? Have you said or done aught which you know 
to have been wrong, and which you feel in your 
better moments, should be undone, as far as may be 
by penitence and reparation. If aye — postpone the act 
of apology, of reparation — of duty and of justice, no 
longer. 



$t not Jkflnragtfo. 

" A good deed never dies." 

WE sometimes hear individuals complain that the 
progress of reform is slow — that "the millions" 
of the human family are still suffering, toiling, and in 
a great measure oppressed — that the march of civiliza- 
tion has not in all cases been characterized by happy 
influences, — and that the day is yet remote, when the 
hope dearest to the Christian's heart, in relation to the 
universal regeneration of man, shall be fully realized. 
There may be something in this complaint, but there 
is, nevertheless, much to gladden and encourage in the 
signs of the times, not only in the New world but in 
the Old. We believe that a more liberal spirit of hu- 
manity is gaining ascendency — that a more generous 
sympathy for our kind is becoming a distinguishing 
feature of the age, — that the mighty minds of our day 
and generation are beginning to direct their attention 
more fully to the privations, the wants, the necessities, 
and comforts of the poor. All this, therefore, is 
encouraging. It indicates a sympathy with our race 
among the intellectual and the gifted, which cannot 
but be productive of the happiest results. When we 
see many of the master spirits of our time — not only 
"abroad" but at home — directing the intellectual 
power given them by the Creator, to the amelioration 
of the condition of mankind, the philanthropist has 
great reason to rejoice and " take heart." Of late years 
14 (229) 



230 BE NOT DISCOUKAGED. 

too, much has been accomplished for the relief of the 
wretched, the neglected, the misguided, and the erring. 
Throughout the civilized world, a movement of the 
most gratifying character is in progress at this moment, 
with reference to the Insane Poor. This is a work of 
true benevolence, and as one of the bright and distin- 
guishing features of the age, is well calculated to show 
that a "lively humanity" is abroad. The efforts made 
and in progress in Europe, for the relief of the thou- 
sands engaged in mines and manufactories, may also be 
referred to in terms of cordial approbation. The com- 
parative peace of the world — the increasing detestation 
of war — the disposition to appeal to reason and equity 
rather than the sword ! These are indications of the 
right kind. There is, we repeat, much to encourage 
and animate all genuine philanthropists. It is the duty 
of all to assist as much as possible in softening and 
soothing human misery, in mitigating the ills to which 
" flesh is heir." When great opportunities are afforded, 
— when by position or mental power, individuals can 
relieve, assist or aid some comprehensive work of hu- 
manity, their duty to do so is imperative. On the 
other hand, no one should be deterred from participat- 
ing in a good work, from a belief of the feebleness of 
his powers, or the limited character of his influence. 
The humblest are sometimes made the instruments of 
mighty reforms in the hands of Providence. Each 
should contribute his mite in the spirit of the poor 
widow. Thus high and low, humble and exalted, act- 
ing together, and animated by humane motives, would 
speedily assist the regeneration of man, and not only 
promote the happiness of others, but contribute to their 
own enjoyment. 



BE NOT DISCOURAGED. 231 

"Be not discouraged" is a good motto in every 
laudable undertaking. We should not, in all cases, 
look for immediate results. Human foresight is at 
best narrow and limited, and what to man may seem 
untoward and disheartening, may to the eye and the 
mind of the Supreme Being, be fraught with remote 
results of the most exalting character. The faith of 
the Christian teaches him to look forward to a period 
when the condition of the human race shall be infinitely 
improved. It is his duty, therefore, to contribute as 
much as possible, to assist and hasten " a consummation 
so devoutly wished." Every pure precept that is 
uttered, every noble act, the exercise of every generous 
sympathy ; — all that is good in itself, that is prompted 
by benevolent motives, or that aims at salutary ends, 
form but the manifestations of the better spirit of man, 
and may be said to contribute in some degree to the 
realization of the exalted hope to which we have 
referred. This is the case even in humble, in every 
day, in individual life. When, however, men are 
placed by circumstances, in positions of high trust and 
responsibility, and are thus enabled to control and 
direct the masses, their efforts for good may be, nay 
must be, productive of far more important results. 
Thus, too, with all benevolent associations, with all 
patient and untiring efforts — with all charitable insti- 
tutions, — with every thing that aims at the diffusion 
of knowledge and " the greatest good of the greatest 
number." If it were possible for an individual on 
entering life, to choose the mode of existence best 
calculated to be productive of happiness here, and to 
yield the strongest hope of future bliss, the path of 
true hearted philanthropy would undoubtedly be 



232 BE NOT DISCOURAGED. 

selected. What happy visions must throng around 
the death -bed of the individual who has dedicated a 
large portion of his life to the comforts, the necessities 
and the improvement of his race — to the man who has 
in many cases sacrificed self and selfish interests, to 
soothe the sorrows, to relieve the distresses and 
administer to the wants of others. That there are such, 
philanthropists, and many such, is apparent from the 
charitable institutions which adorn and beautify the 
civilized portion of the world — and from the acts of 
generosity and benevolence which we are so constantly 
constantly called upon to record. Again, then, we say 
to every friend of his race — be not discouraged ! There 
is much of true charity, of real virtue, of single- 
hearted benevolence in the world, and though the seed 
planted to-day may not bring forth fruit as speedily 
as the more sanguine may desire — it is not the less a 
duty to engage in the work of virtue and reform ; 
for years hence, when our hands may be still and cold 
and our voices mute in death, the hopes and aspira- 
tions now cherished, may be realized to the advan- 
tage of our offspring — to the benefit of generations 
yet unborn. 

" Like seeds deep hid in the thankless earth, 

Or buried in dead men's tombs, 
'Till the spade of the laborer casts them forth, 

Or the traveler's search exhnmes — 
Revived again ill the upper air, 

Not one of their powers is lost ; 
Plant them, they root and flourish fair, 

And bring forth a goodly host 
Of oflfspring, though centimes may have past 
Since they in tbeir darksome cells were cast. 

So is the word that virtue preaches ; 

The good seed may seem to die, 
And the fruit of the holy creed it teaches 

Be hidden from human eye : 



GOOD AND EVIL. 233 

If the vital germ of truth he there, 

It never can perish wholly, 
Kich hlossom and fruit it will surely bear, 

Though for long years buried lowly ; 
Other hands may bring it to light and seDd : 
But the seed of good thoughts has a fruitful end." 



(Sfafo art> (M. 

THEKE are periods in the existence of almost 
every individual, when the events of the past 
rise up before the eyes of memory, and in vivid colors 
we detect our follies and our errors, discover at a 
glance at what period false steps were taken, and 
when, had we but pursued another course, success and 
prosperity would have crowned our efforts. Rarely 
does it happen at such moments, that we find a de- 
parture from the path of integrity has resulted even in 
worldly success, while, in the great majority of cases, 
a yielding to temptation, a forgetfulness for the time 
of the rigid restraints of morality, an indifference to 
the gentle appeals of conscience, will be recognized as 
the origin of most of our subsequent vicissitudes. The 
reflection, too, that a violation of duty preceded our 
disaster, is full of bitterness and anguish. "We regard 
ourselves as but justly punished. We feel that the 
penalty has only followed the crime. If, on the other 
hand, there is a consciousness within of rectitude and 
truth, no matter what our present adversity, or how 
dark the clouds that now overshadow our path, the 
angel voice of hope will still whisper that brightness 



2o4 GOOD AND EVIL. 

and happiness await us in the future, that sooner or 
later virtue and trnth will triumph, and in this con- 
sciousness there is great consolation and comfort. 
This we all know. These are facts within the expe- 
rience of all who have proper sensibilities, who can 
reflect and trace effect from cause, and who have a be- 
lief in the justice of an overruling Providence. There 
are few, indeed, who cannot look back and discover 
some darkness, some error, some injustice in the his- 
tory of their past lives, something that they would if 
they could, expunge and blot from existence forever. 
But ever and anon the recollection will revive, and 
cast a gloom over the present. It is thus with the 
memory of evil, ever thus when the heart is not wholly • 
hardened. The good on the other hand, how glorious 
the contrast ! It not only brightens and blesses for 
the present, and while we are in the discharge of our 
duty, but it sweetens and softens every hour of after 
existence. This philosophy is not only established in 
one case but in thousands. We believe it — we know 
it, we see it from day to day. And yet with this 
knowledge before us, with these results of vice and 
virtue — how few act as if they appreciated the truth 
to which we have referred — as if they recognized the 
doctrine that the conduct of to-day, to-morrow and the 
next day, would in any degree affect our condition of 
life, our happiness, our feelings of peace, security and 
contentment in the time to come. There are few indeed 
who cannot discriminate between the false and the 
true, between benevolence and ill-will, between virtue 
and vice. There are few who will not admit in the 
closet and in confidential moments, that vice carries 
vvith it a penalty, and virtue a blessing. Nevertheless— 



GOOD AND EVIL. 235 

taking the thousands who constitute a community like 
this, how few act and live as if this doctrine were ever 
present to their minds and hearts. Can we wonder 
then at the unhappiness of so large a portion of man- 
kind? Are not those who are fretful, peevish and 
complaining, the victims, in many cases, of former 
error, or of existing infirmity of disposition? Do 
they not neglect the true philosophy of life as well as 
of Christianity ? Do they do unto their neighbors as 
they would they should do unto them? Are they 
kindly, affable and generous ? Or are they peevish, 
harsh and ill-natured ? Do they sympathize with the 
afflicted, and endeavor to mitigate their sufferings ; or 
do they rejoice at the distresses of their fellow - 
creatures ; or at least turn a deaf ear to the appeals 
that are made for sympathy and relief? Do they, in 
their domestic relations, endeavor to impart happiness, 
to reciprocate affection, to render home the chosen 
spot where all the gentler virtues may cluster and 
concentrate ? Or do they play the tyrant with wife 
and children, and then charge the disquiet and anxiety 
of the household upon the patient and the suffering ? 
These are questions, which, answered in the true 
spirit, will tell the whole story of much of the discon- 
tent and infelicity of human existence. 

We are ourselves the authors of much that annoys 
us. " If," in the language of an eminent writer, " we 
would judge others as leniently as we judge our- 
selves — if we would but mark our own failings as 
critically and minutely as we mark those of our neigh- 
bors — should we not then be more charitable ? And 
what gives us so clear an insight into the defects of 
others, but that the seeds of the same defects are in 



236 GOOD AND EVIL. 



our own bosoms, and we know them from their 
semblance, though we own it not. And what makes 
us oppose them, but that they cross our interests, 
encounter our defects, and shock and thwart us in 
our onward path." We do not with sufficient vigi- 
lance watch and control our passions and impulses. 
We act too thoughtlessly, too heedlessly, and without 
due reflection. We charge against the world, or the 
individuals more immediately around us, anxieties 
and perplexities which in many cases originate with 
ourselves. The experience of our own conduct is lost 
upon us. The convictions of our own minds are not 
sufficiently heeded. We know the right path, but we 
do not pursue it. We admire and appiaud the gentler 
humanities, and yet we daily outrage and violate 
them. Let us then endeavor to remedy this condition 
of things. Let us strive to do good as well for itself 
as for the blessings that are sure to follow it. Let us 
guard and restrain our passions ! Let us admit and 
remedy our errors and weaknesses ! Let us commence 
with an effort to impart pleasure, to add to the happi- 
ness of the beings immediately confided to our charge, 
or in any degree under our* influence — such as our 
friends, our relatives, our neighbors, and the com- 
panions with whom we are in the habit of associating ! 
They doubtless have discovered and lamented the evil 
features of our disposition and character. Let us sur- 
prise them by a change for the better ! Let us show 
them that we not only understand the true art, the 
real philosophy of life, but that we endeavor to illus- 
trate the theory and doctrine by conduct and example! 
Let us, in short, while striving to bless and brighten 
the lives of others, create for ourselves a source of 
true, pure and unfailing happiness. 



re- 
res 



IE - 



Imaginary Qftnls anb dnetaittts. 

" Yield to the phantasy — thou sinnest ; resist it, He will aid thee." 

IT is curious to see how some people annoy them- 
selves without a cause, and imagine a thousand 
evils to exist or to threaten them which have being 
only in a diseased fancy. The truth is, all are more 
or less affected in the way described. There are 
moments when the wisest, the best, the most philo- 
sophic, give way to moodiness of spirit, look at the 
world through a discolored medium, and conceive that 
they are the most unfortunate of mankind. The con- 
dition of the body no doubt affects the mind; and 
thus physical debility or illness will often induce an 
individual to suppose that many misfortunes are at 
hand which are by no means likely to occur. It is 
through the agency of such depressing and bewilder- 
ing causes that many an act of madness and despair is 
committed, and that even self-murder is resorted to, 
to escape the shadowy demons of the brain. The vic- 
tims of this phantasm are entitled to our liveliest sym- 
pathy; but they should, nevertheless, wrestle man- 
fully, with a resolute and a Christian spirit, against 
moodiness so depressing and disheartening. Other- 
wise, they will sooner or later become bankrupts in 
health and in happiness. A diseased imagination, a 
clouded mind, are indeed among the most deplorable 
of calamities ; and every tendency to such depression 

(237) 



238 IMAGIN, iY EVILS AND GRIEVANCES. 

and melancholy, should be earnestly and vigorously 
resisted. 

But there is another feature of this disposition to 
torture one's self unnecessarily, that deserves to be 
mentioned. We have an individual in our mind's eye 
at the present moment, whose case may be quoted by 
way of illustration. He is " one of the best natured 
men alive," full of kindness and benevolence, and yet 
nervous, sensitive and fretful. He is constantly an- 
noying himself with imaginary evils — applying re- 
marks to his own case which were never intended for 
him, and discovering in the looks of neighbors and 
friends, something suspicious, significant, and calcu- 
lated to produce uneasiness. Even in free and social 
conversations he fancies that " such a hint" was in- 
tended for him; and, coloring up for the moment, 
he sometimes attempts to explain or reply, and the 
chances are ten to one that he makes the matter worse. 
The newspaper essays of the day sometimes put him 
in a fever ; for he fancies, strangely enough, that the 
authors have heard of his private history, have been 
able to glance into his mind and heart, have selected 
his follies and frailties as the theme of their hasty 
sketches. Not long since an article appeared in one 
of the public journals, in which a particular foible of 
society was commented upon, in terms of no little 
severity, and the writer, by way of illustration, cited 
a supposed example. The sketch — as we happen to 
know — was wholly imaginary ; but some mischievous 
wag, who was acquainted with the infirmity of our 
friend, enclosed the article in " black lines" and sent 
it to the address of the nervous gentleman. He had 
before glanced over it with little attention, and with 









IMAGINARY EVILS AND • GRIEVANCES. 239 

scarcely a thought as to its application to himself. 
But, another having discovered that he was the 
original, that his weakness had become so palpable as 
to make it a fit subject for newspaper portraiture, he 
was sadly annoyed. The worst of it was — and this 
may be referred to as another weakness and folly — he 
could not remain satisfied until he had called on 
dozens of his friends, pointed their attention to the 
offending sketch, and argued at length as to its inac- 
curacy, inapplicability and severity. Some of them 
laughed at the whole affair, and said that it had no 
allusion to him, while others, for such is the way of 
the world, only endeavored to make the matter worse, 
and to excite still further the diseased imagination of 
the morbidly sensitive and unnecessarily aggrieved. 

A still more forcible illustration of this disposition 
to misapply, occurred with our friend a few years 
since. He attended the church in which he had a 
pew, and over which the Eev. Dr. B., now no more, 
presided. The discourse was not only admirable in its 
general tone and tendency, but in its application, it 
was what is usually called " searching." Our friend 
listened for a while with ordinary attention, until a 
remark fell from the speaker which seemed to arouse 
him like an electric shock. He instantly turned his 
eyes in an earnest manner toward the pulpit, opened 
his ears to their full tension, and became convinced, as 
the clergyman proceeded, that the sermon was intended 
expressly for him, that he had been selected out as the 
theme of the discourse, and that his errors and infirmi- 
ties were the topics of comment and animadversion. 
He became so excited before the sermon was over, that 
he could scarcely keep his seat, and at its close he seized 



240 IMAGINARY EVILS AND GRIEVANCES. 

his hat and rushed out of the church. The rest of the 
day he was in a sad frame of mind, for he felt con- 
vinced that he had been held up before the whole con 
gregation in such a way, that every one must have 
seen that he was particularly alluded to. He argued 
with himself that he had always had a very high, 
opinion of Dr. B. ; he had been a regular attendant for 
years at the church in which he preached, and although 
it was proper in a clergyman to denounce error and 
vice in general terms > he had no right to make any 
particular member of his congregation the subject of 
emphatic remarks, and in a manner so pointed too, 
as to hold him up to recognition. He hesitated for 
some time, and then determined to visit the doctor 
and ask an explanation. At the interview which en- 
sued, the clergyman manifested the greatest surprise. 
The sermon was intended for no individual in parti- 
cular, was designed to be general, and certainly it was 
the furthest from his thoughts to single out any mem- 
ber of his congregation. The complainant stammered, 
and was evidently confused and abashed, but the cler- 
gyman relieved him by a kind word or two, and he 
left the house in a much more agreeable frame of 
mind. On his way. home he met another member of 
the same church, and they walked on for several 
squares together. Soon the sermon of the preceding 
Sabbath became the topic of conversation. 

" How did you like it ?" said Mr. A. — the hero of 
our sketch. 

" Pretty well," said Mr. B., hesitating somewhat ; 
" but didn't you think it was rather personal ?" 

: ' Yes," replied the other, somewhat confused — and 
the old suspicion immediately coming back — " I did. 



IMAGINARY EVILS AND GRIEVANCES. 241 

It was too much so — entirely too much so — clergy- 
men should be more careful." 

1 ' You are right — very right" — r ej oined Mr. B., 
warming up — " every member of the congregation 
was insulted by such a discourse." 

" Yes, yes — but (looking into the other's face with 
timidity and apprehension) who did you think he 
meant ?" 

" Meant /" exclaimed Mr. B., " why me to be sure ; 
who else ?" 

" Ah !" said the other, his tone immediately chang- 
ing, "you have made a mistake. I have reason to 
know that your suspicion is wholly unfounded." 

" How can you make such a statement? Who told 
you that I was not meant ?" inquired Mr. B. 

" The clergyman himself," answered the other. 
" The truth is, I foolishly supposed that /was alluded 
to, and have just been to the house of our pastor for 
an explanation. He assured me that he alluded to no 
member of the congregation, that the sermon was 
general in its character, and that however anxious he 
might be to reform sinners and induce the erring to 
mend their ways, he nevertheless endeavored to keep 
within the bounds of strict propriety, and to avoid 
with scrupulous care, every thing like offensive per- 
sonality." 

The two friends congratulated each other upon the 
explanation, at the same time admitted that they had 
behaved like any but wise men in the affair, and 
promised to act with more discretion for the future. 

Are there any Mr. A.'s or Mr. B.'s among our read- 
ers ? Are there any whose real grievances are so few, 
that they are induced to fancy causes of unhappiness ? 



242 HOME FESTIVALS. 

Are there any who are torturing themselves with 
phantoms — mere creations of a morbid imagination ? 
There are — there are — and to all such we commend 
the following passage from a popular author : 

" Come, rouse thee, sad one ! — 'tis not well 

To let the spirit brood 
Thus darkly o'er the cares that swell 

Life's current to a flood. 
As brooks, and torrents, rivers, all 
Increase the gulf in which they fall, 
Such thoughts, by gathering up the rills 
Of lesser griefs, spread real ills, 
And with their gloomy shades conceal 
The landmarks Hope would else reveal." 



irate Jfestikls. 



"The rose that blooms in Sharon's vale, 

And scents the purple morning's breath, 
May in the shades of evening fail, 

And bend its crimson head in death ; 
And fairer ones amid the tomb, 

May like the blushing rose decay, 
But still the mind — the mind shall bloom, 

When time and nature fade away ; 
And then, amid a holier sphere, 

Where seraphs bow, with deepest awe, 
Where sits in majesty severe, 

The author of Eternal law, 
The ransomed of the earth with joy, 

Shall in their robes of beauty come, 
And find a rest without alloy, 

Amid the Christian's happy home." — Dow. 



IT is a custom with many of our citizens to celebrate 
bridal, birthday, or kindred anniversaries, and on 
such occasions to call around them the members of 
their families, for the purpose of interchanging acts of 






HOME FESTIVALS. 243 

kindness, strengthening the ties of consanguinity, and 
cementing the bonds of friendship and affection. The 
custom is a good one, and is fraught with happy, 
social, and moral consequences. Life is greatly sweet- 
ened by such means, household virtues are encouraged, 
gentle affections are fostered, and friends, relatives, 
and home become more and more endeared. Espe- 
cially is this habit a proper one, with the heads of 
families whose children are sometimes scattered far 
and wide, with varying fortunes, some in prosperity, 
others in adversity, others borne down by affliction, 
and others again elevated into positions of power and 
importance. It is a happy thing to see such a family 
reunite occasionally round the parent hearth, to 
notice " the return to its bosom of beloved members,'' 
and see them paying a joint tribute of respect and of 
regard to the gray-headed parents, who cannot, in the 
common course of nature, remain much longer among 
the children of men. The feelings of the heart, the 
ties of kindred, the associations of home, all the milder 
humanities of our nature, all that grew with us in our 
childhood and became part of our character, before we 
mingled in the pecuniary or ambitious struggles of the 
world, should be revived, brought back, and kept fresh 
by every fitting means in our power. Let us become 
cold and dead to these associations, and we shall also 
grow torpid and indifferent to the finer and purer ele- 
ments of our nature. Let the affections of the heart 
be trodden out — let the recollections of youth fail to 
excite emotion — let the songs, the sounds and the 
companions of our earlier days be regarded as idle, 
worthless, and unimportant, and we shall have changed 

our very nature — and in most cases for the worse. 
15 



244 HOME FESTIVALS. 

It has been beautifully said that " the grand natural 
feature of northern life, is a conquered winter. And 
this applies equally to life individually, to family life, 
and to that of individual persons. It so readily freezes 
and grows stiff — snow so soon falls upon the "heart ; 
and Winter makes his power felt as much within as 
without the house. In order to keep it warm within 
— in order that life may flourish and grow, it is need- 
ful to preserve the holy fire ever burning. Love must 
not turn to ashes or die out. If it do, then all is labor 
and heaviness, and one may as well do nothing but 
sleep. But, if fire be borrowed from Heaven, this will 
not happen , then our house and heart will be warm, 
and life bloom incessantly, and a thousand cares will 
become rich sources of joy to all." Ambition, with 
its giddiest heights and its greenest laurels, cannot 
compare in its enjoyments with those pure and holier 
emotions which have their source in {he deeper and 
warmer wells of the heart. Wealth and its influence 
may purchase and achieve much, but it cannot bring 
back truth and sensibility, cannot excite those extatic 
sensations which live only amid the atmosphere of 
home joys, and in the exercise of the purer sensibili- 
ties. The heart is in many cases too much neglected. 
The world is artificial and hollow, and much of the 
glitter, and pomp, and parade which excite the envy 
and dazzle the imagination of the superficial and the 
idle, is not based upon those true and sublime enjoy- 
ments which spring from the kindlier feelings properly 
directed, those gentle amenities, sensibilities and reci- 
procities, which are to be found only within the pre- 
cincts of a peaceful, calm, and virtuous home. 

" The heart and its affections," says Tupper, " never 



HOME FESTIVALS. 245 

die." They not only influence our destiny here, but 
hereafter. We may have enjoyments of sense, of 
sound, and of excitement. But these are empty and 
hollow, compared with the delicious feelings which 
spring from the exercise of benevolence, good-will, true 
humanity, and sincere affection. l( Ah !" says a favorite 
author of ours, " if we only understood how near to us 
Providence has placed these fountains of our happi- 
ness — if we had only understood this from the days 
of our childhood upward, acted upon it, profited by it, 
our lives would then seldom lead through dry wilder- 
nesses. Happy are those children whose eyes are 
early opened by parents and home, to the rich activity 
of life. They will then experience what sweetness and 
joy and peace can flow out of family relations— out 
of the heartfelt union between brothers and sisters— 
between parents and children, — and they will experi- 
ence how these relations, carefully cherished in youth, 
will become blessings for our maturer years." 

Let us then cultivate these by every means in our 
power. Let us have our innocent home festivals, 
and occasionally call together around the generous 
board or the family fire-side, the beings who have 
grown up with us, under whose influence and example 
we have become what we are, as well as the little ones 
who look up to us with respect and affection, and 
who, at some future period, will turn back with delight- 
ful remembrance to the old-fashioned household 
gatherings. 
15 



%\t jMo. 

"Employment saves from crime." 

A DAY or two ago, while passing along one of 
our principal streets, we heard a lad, who with 
a companion was carrying home a piece of furniture, 
expatiating with quite a burst of youthful eloquence 
upon the pleasures of idleness. He pictured a con- 
dition of independent indolence as the only true state 
of human felicity, and amused his fellow apprentice 
not a little with speculations as to his plans of frolic 
and enjoyment should he ever have nothing to do — 
should the period ever arrive when he could walk the 
streets or lounge at the corner, according to the bent 
of his inclination ! Alas ! for the error of the young 
enthusiast. He had not realized the philosophy of 
Charles Lamb, who in one of his letters says — "No 
work is worse than overwork. I bragged formerly that 
I could not have too much time. I have a surfeit. 
With few years to come the days are wearisome." We 
agree with the author of " Elia," that there is not a 
more wretched being on earth than the mere idler — 
the individual who has nothing to do — whose very 
thoughts are torpid, who finds it irksome aud difficult 
to "kill time"; and who is thus subjected to a thou- 
sand temptations, and as many fits of nervousness and 
ennui, who retires to rest at night, scarcely needing 
repose, whose slumber is fitful and unrefreshing, and 
(246) 



THE IDLER. 247 

who wakes in the morning, and is puzzled to know 
how to employ the hours of the day. To such, the 
present is without enjoyment, and the future wrapped 
in gloom. Shadowy and unhealthy fancies constantly 
intrude, the body loses its activity, and the mind 
suffers from the physical debility. 

Some one has said truly and beautifully, that " the 
choicest favors of Heaven are reserved for those who 
labor." It is the destiny of man, and if he attempt to 
war against his destiny, he will find the phantom of 
happiness, let him seek it however earnestly, fleeting 
further and further from his grasp. We believe with 
a celebrated writer, that "there is no existence so con- 
tent as that whose present is engrossed by employ- 
ment, and whose future is filled by some strong hope, 
the truth of which is never proved. Toil and illusion 
are the only secrets to make life tolerable." The pur- 
suit is every thing. Let us occupy the mind, let us 
be engaged in the accomplishment of some cherished 
object, and let the soul be absorbed in the delightful 
visions connected with the promised and looked-for 
result and triumph, and we shall be comparatively 
happy. This doctrine will apply to almost every con- 
dition of life. Happiness, we should remember, varies 
according to circumstances. The man of an educated 
and refined taste, derives enjoyment from many kinds 
of intellectual occupation and indulgence, that would 
seem ta^ne and wearisome to the individual of com- 
paratively meagre and moderate acquirements. We 
are born, moreover, with different powers, and tastes, 
and appetites, and these again, are influenced by cii- 
cumstances, by education, and by the society in which 
we have moved and mingled. 

We think it is James, who says, "it is a very great, 



248 THE IDLER. 

though a very old mistake, to imagine that there is 
the same disparity in the enjoyment of existence, as 
in the distribution of fortune's gifts." And we believe 
with him that the poor laborer, nine times out of 
ten, is much happier than the rich idler. "Had 
you," he continues, " witnessed as I have done, the 
ennui, the dejection, the misery of the wealthy and 
the great, you would have thought them much more 
worthy of compassion than the plowmen who whistle 
in their fields. And sure it is that you rarely hear 
of a laborer committing suicide even to avoid starva- 
tion, while many a grandee has blown out his brains 
that he may escape from his riches, his luxuries, and 
the intolerable wretchedness that arises from the want 
of a want." This is all true — and as forcible as true. 
If, therefore, we desire to be happy, let us employ 
ourselves as usefully and profitably as possible. If, 
in administering to our own fortunes, we can promote 
the welfare of mankind — so much the better — for thus, 
we shall create and enjoy a new delight. If we desire 
to see our children glide along the path of life, in a 
contented, cheerful and happy spirit — let us, while 
they are young, inculcate lessons and habits of in- 
tegrity and industry. Such habits will, in the end, 
prove far more valuable than gold." They will furnish 
our offspring with a constant source of independence, 
a fountain of perpetual happiness, and at the same 
time, prevent them from becoming idlers, drones, and 
finally outcasts of society. The best legacy that a 
father can leave his children, may be briefly summed 
up thus: principles of rectitude, habits of industry, 
cheerfulness of disposition, respect for the laws, 
attachment to country, love of virtue, and faith in 
Christianity. 



M 



Spring-time of % fear. 

" We pass out from the city's feverish hum, 

To find refreshment in the silent woods ; 
And nature, that is beautiful and dumb, 

Like a cool sleep upon the pulses broods ; 
Yet even there, a restless thought will steal, 
To teach the indolent heart that it must feel." 

AN" should go forth into the fields and valleys 
during the early months of Spring, when all 

" is blooming and benevolent." 

The season when — 

" From the moist meadow to the wither'd hill, 
Led by the breeze the vivid verdure runs, 
And swells and deepens to the cherish'd eye. 
The garden glows and fills the liberal air 
With lavish fragrance ; while the promised fruit 
Lies yet a little embryo, unperceived, 
Within its crimson folds. Now from the town 
Buried in smoke and sleep and noisome damps, 
Oft let me wander o'er the dewy fields, 
Where freshness breathes, and dash the trembling drops 
From the bent bush, as through the verdant maze 
Of sweetbriar hedges I pursue my walk." 

We should shake off city associations, the hum and 
din of the busy multitude with their thousand avoca- 
tions, and linger for a few hours among pure, calm, 
quiet, heart-touching and spirit-elevating scenes. The 
student should throw aside his books, and go forth to 
inhale the fresh and health-inspiring atmosphere — 
The toiler in cities should hurry away from the sound 
of the nammer, the forge and the loom, and, wandering 
for a few miles into the country, pause, amid the 
groves, 

"God's first temples," 

(249) 



250 THE SPRING-TIME OF THE YEAR 

and there give utterance to thoughts, feelings and as- 
pirations, that will not harmonize and are not con- 
genial with brick walls, narrow streets, circumscribed 
views, and all the turmoil and confusion of the work- 
ing-day world of a great commercial city. The heart 
must be cold, dull and torpid that is not melted and 
subdued, as well as awed and excited into religious 
admiration by a communion with nature, — by a survey 
of the outspread and picturesque scenes of rural life, — 
valley, slope and meadow, cottage and farm, gliding 
stream and browsing cattle, tall hills and thickly 
foliaged woods, the bright, blue sky bending above, 
and not a sound breaking upon the ear, save the carol 
of a bird, the hum of an insect, or the echo of some 
distant movement of man or vehicle. It is at such 
times and amid such scenes, that we not only feel the 
divinity within us, but that we see the hand of the 
Creator in many a visible form — from the modest, 
lowly and beautiful flower that we crush beneath our" 
feet, to the broad and blazing luminary of day, as he 
holds his onward course in the heavens. 

While we see and feel these influences, moreover, — 
while the Maker of Heaven and of Earth is present, as 
it were, in all his works — while so broad and compre- 
hensive a view is before us, our own comparative in- 
significance in the scale of creation is felt and appreci- 
ated — the perishing things of mere earthly pursuits 
are recognized and acknowledged — the spirit wanders 
forth on the wings of Thought, of Hope and of Faith, 
and the belief steals upon us that if the vital power is 
regulated year after year, upon the face of the 
earth, in the grass-blade, in the forest, and in the many 
teeming forms of nature, — so also will there come 



THE SPRING-TIME OF THE YEAR. 251 

another life to man's existence, and the frail dust of his 
mortality will assume a brighter and a purer shape, 
and be animated with a new existence by the same 
master-hand that garnishes so beautifully year after 
year, the fields, the forests and the flowers. It is 
good to go forth occasionally, to refresh our minds 
and hearts by communing with Nature. Amid the 
noise and bustle of the crowd, our views are apt to 
become narrow and limited. We are apt to grow 
worldly and mercenary — to fancy that our life is con- 
fined to ceitain objects of every- day pursuit and occu- 
pation, that gain in a monetary sense, is the chief end of 
man — that fashion is a subject of deep and grave im- 
portance — that a peculiar kind of dress is essential — 
in short we become artificial beings, living in an arti- 
ficial atmosphere, and governed and influenced by the 
customs, habits, and regulations of the little circle to 
which we are confined, either by our business or by 
our position in society. If we discharge our ordinary 
duties, we are disposed to fancy that we are living up 
to all our obligations, and are pursuing the course 
suited as well for this world as the next. And yet, 
these scenes and circumstances become dull, formal and 
without proper influence upon us, from their regularity, 
and the little feeling and reflection they excite. But 
let us be brought more immediately in connection with 
the Creator and his works — more directly in the 
presence of the Deity, let us on the ocean 

" See God in clouds and hear him in the wind," 

— let us wander by the rock-bound shore, and gaze 
out upon an interminable range of sea and sky — steal 
away from the crowded city, hold communion with 



252 THE YOUNG HEIR. 

Nature in her many aspects in the country, and as we 
examine the various processes of vegetation, and see 
the bursting bud, the opening leaf, the blooming flower, 
trace the hand of Deity in many a delicate, beneficent 
and godlike work. Thus we shall feel that the same 
Omnipotent Power that orders and accomplishes a 
change of seasons, 

'• Wheels the silent spheres, 
Works in the chambers of the deep," 

and sustains the life of man, is capable of elevating the 
frailness of humanity to a higher, holier, and happier 
state of being — a condition where there shall be per- 
petual Spring — eternal youth — 

" Life undecaying— love without alloy, 
Pare flowing joy— and happiness sincere." 



%\t foung par; ox, it perils of \ 

«' Plant Virtue, and Content's the Fruit." 

" He that holds fast the golden mean, 
And lives contentedly between 

The little and the great, 
Feels not the wants that pinch the poor, 
Nor plagues that haunt the rich man's door, 
Embittering all his state." — Covyper's Horace. 

WE recently chanced to be among a circle of 
friends, when intelligence was announced that 
an acquaintance had just fallen heir to an immense 
fortune — a fortune large enough to yield an income of 
at least twenty thousand dollars per annum. The con- 



THE YOUNG HEIR. 253 

versation immediately became quite animated, and 
almost every one uttered an expression of scarcely 
concealed envy, at what seemed to be considered as the 
remarkably good luck of the happy heir. One indi- 
vidual, however, took a more thoughtful and ad- 
monitory view of the subject, and said that while " he 
hoped that the recipient of so large an estate would 
prove worthy of it— would prove competent to wrestle 
with and triumph over the temptations of prosperity, such 
a task, nevertheless, required more than an ordinary 
effort. Adversity," — he continued, — "is the lot of 
man. There are none of us who have not experienced 
it in some degree, — none who have not suffered, — 
none who have not been disappointed. And hence, as 
step by step we progress in the journey of life, we be- 
come fitted for the perils and vicissitudes which 
surround its path. Not so, however, with the suddenly 
enriched. They are not only apt to forget themselves, 
their powers and responsibilities, but their duties and 
accountability to Providence ; and hence they rush on 
blindly and madly, until admonished by sickness or 
calamity, or overwhelmed by profligacy and dissipa- 
tion. The fortunate individual just alluded to, is yet 
quite young. He knows little of himself and less of 
the world. He has experienced few trials, been sub- 
jected to few temptations. Naturally kind-hearted 
and well-disposed, he is at the present moment, doubt- 
less, full of generous and benevolent views, and deter- 
mined so to expend his surplus income, as shall prove 
that he understands his position and responsibilities, 
and has proper sympathies for his fellow-men. Never- 
theless, even thus early in his career of wealth, visions 
of vanity, pomp and pride occasionally float before his 



254 THE YOUNG HEIR. 

imagination, parasites and false friends whisper adula- 
tion into his ears, and he finds it difficult to resist 
advice which seems to be given from motives of a 
truly and purely disinterested character. And here 1 
pause," said the thoughtful observer, "lest I should 
be considered a croaker ; and still it is right that I 
should add that in this matter, I speak in some degree 
from experience. I was left a handsome fortune before 
I was twenty- one years of age. The consequence was, 
that I became idle, dissolute, prodigal — and before I 
reached thirty I was a beggar, nay, worse. I had con- 
tracted habits which I found very difficult to shake off. 
Still I was young, in tolerable health, rallied, made a 
vigorous effort, and after a bitter and fearful struggle 
of one or two years, escaped the' shoals and quicksands 
by which I was surrounded. Prosperity unmanned 
me, made me a lounger, an idler, and a drone in 
society. Adversity gave a new impulse to my nature, 
called forth all the energies that I possessed, and I 
gradually recovered respectability and competence. 
Hence, gentlemen, it is my philosophy, that sudden 
wealth is often dangerous. It dazzles, bewilders, mis- 
leads, and sometimes destroys." 

Again. Some days since, in conversation with one 
of our best citizens, whose history was not entirely un- 
known to us, we ventured to ask a question as to his 
past career, present position and prospects. He replied 
cheerfully and frankly. Soon after having served out 
his time in one of the most flourishing mercantile es- 
tablishments in Front street, he received an offer to 
enter into an active and extensive business with a 
partner, accepted it, and for a few years was eminently 
successful. But his partner was somewhat sanguine 



THE YOUNG HEIR. 255 

and extravagant in his notions, and not being satisfied 
with making rnoney in the ordinary way, ventured 
largely into speculations in stocks, lands, and every 
other uncertain bubble. The result was a failure, and 
a deficit in the firm of something like thirty thousand 
dollars. Our friend, who had not been privy to these 
speculations, was for a time stunned and overwhelmed. 
He knew not what to do. But a few friends seeing 
that he was the innocent victim of another's folly, 
waited upon him, counselled and assisted him, and he 
proceeded onward. Ten years have gone by ; he has 
liquidated a large portion of the indebtedness of the 
old firm, his business is sound but moderate, his posi- 
tion as a man of integrity is undoubted, his credit is 
good, his prospects are fair. But more and better than 
all, the apparent adversity was, in fact, a blessing in 
disguise, for the effect was to render him not only cau- 
tious, prudent, and upright, but also moral and religous, 
and thus a converted man. He lost a few thousand dol- 
lars for the time, but he won an imperishable blessing — 
secured that which will brighten his pathway here, 
and strengthen his hopes of a glorious hereafter. 

The truth is, trial and temptation, suffering and sor- 
row are but features and phases of our allotted condi- 
tion in life. Sudden success is rarely unaccompanied 
by some snadow in the distance. It is our destiny to 
toil, and while the rewards of labor are in most cases 
comfort and contentment, if not independence; wealth, 
when rapidly or wrongfully acquired, is seldom unac- 
companied by some disadvantage or drawback. A 
celebrated writer argues that "if the great fortunes 
wliich dazzle the misguiding, be analyzed, they will 
be found, in ninety-nine out of every hundred cases, to 



256 THE YOUNG HEIR. 

have sprung and matured from calm, patient, and 
simple toil, which had an endurance and faith behind, 
and an object and hope before it. So, too, with suc- 
cess, in whatever man seeks to accomplish. A clown 
may stumble upon a splendid discovery in art or sci- 
ence, but a fixed general law provides that high 
achievement shall require profound and ceaseless 
labor. The price of success, in isolated cases, is the 
devotion of one's life. He is a fool who trusts to any 
dream for possession or advancement, unless he con- 
nects with it the prudent exercise of his own energy 
and judgment. The little spring in the mountain rock 
becomes a brook, a torrent, a wide rolling river, and 
a part of the fathomless ocean, simply by pushing 
steadily and bravely forward." 

Again, there are few in life or society who have not 
a secret sorrow, who are not troubled with some 
care, of which the world has no knowledge or suspi- 
cion. Only yesterday, a friend pointed out to us a 
citizen, who is eminent by virtue, by talent, and by 
wealth, and accompanied the act with some remark as 
to the happy condition of such a man ! He little knew 
that the object of his envy was then and has for years 
been laboring under a disease which at times nearly 
maddens him by its pain — a disease, too, which is in- 
curable, and is therefore a constant source of anxiety, 
not to say anguish. No ! there is nothing perfect this 
side the grave. There is no human being whose life 
is one long day of sunshine. The true philosophy is 
contentment — contentment with our condition, what- 
ever it may be. Let us better it if we can — nay, it is 
our duty to strive for its improvement, at all times 
and at all seasons, firmly and honestly, with reliance 



THE INVALID. 257 

upon our own resources, and faith in hope, effort, and 
Providence. And let us, also, when disposed to be 
moody and dissatisfied, and to envy the well-filled 
coffers of a neighbor or a friend, remember that money 
is not happiness — nay, that it often allures to ruin. 
"Happy are they," in the language of another, "whose 
middle station and competent means save them from 
the temptation of want and riches. For it is a curious 
fact, that either extreme fosters the animal instinct of 
selfishness. Abject poverty ! Oh, how easy it is to 
understand that its daily pressing wants and corroding 
cares must narrow the sympathies to self, and dull the 
human mind to all those nobler emotions which are 
its rightful heritage ! And yet experience proves that 
the other extreme of enervating luxury has an equally 
demoralizing tendency, creating factitious wants and 
troubles, which are almost as hard to be borne as real 



(% |ntal&— Sitktss anb jdttjr. 

" I was sick, and ye visited me." 

WE some days since met with an esteemed friend, 
who had just made his appearance in the out- 
door world, after a confinement of several weeks to a 
bed of sickness and of pain. He was pale, thin and 
languid, and exhibited a striking contrast to his con- 
dition a short time before; and this not only with 
reference to the physical man, but to the mental, and 



258 THE INVALID. 

in some sense to the moral. He had been seized with 
a dangerous illness for the first time since he had 
attained the years of manhood, and thus while he 
lingered for hours and for days on the verge of the 
grave, and felt that his strength was gradually wasting 
away, he was induced as well to ponder deeply and 
thoughtfully upon the instability of human life — the 
feeble and uncertain condition of man, as upon the in- 
estimable value of the blessing of health — a blessing 
that he had more than once misappreciated and trifled 
with. His reflections, as he conversed with us, were 
quite solemn and philosophical. He was grateful, deeply 
grateful for his recovery, felt that he was unfitted to be 
called away, and was resolved to re-enter the busy 
scenes of life, a better and a wiser man. How many 
have determined in a similar manner, under like cir- 
cumstances, and how few in their after hours of active 
life, physical vigor and abounding prosperity, have re- 
membered the resolutions of the sick bed, and acted 
them out truthfully and faithfully ! It is only when 
we are stopped midway in a career of pleasure, of 
profit or ambition — when we are checked on some 
lofty ascent as by an unseen hand, that we are induced 
to pause, look around us, duly consider our position, 
and ask ourselves a few searching questions. A sick- 
bed is sometimes fruitful of much good. It at once 
admonishes and alarms. It induces us to turn inward, 
as well as to look above and beyond the ordinary 
movements of every day life, and to glance into th.it 
dim and mysterious future, " when the curtain shall 
be lifted," when the soul shall part from the body, 
"when the mortal shall put on the immortal," and 
soar or sink, according to its relative purity or im- 



THE INVALID. 259 

purity, its virtue or its vice. The multitude, too, 
when in the almost constant enjoyment of the in- 
estimable blessing of health, are too apt to consider 
that " all men are mortal but themselves ;" to believe 
that they have an extraordinary lease upon life, and 
to turn from death — although it may be in their very 
neighborhood, as if they were above and beyond all 
accountability ; and that while it is natural for others 
to descend into the " narrow house," they at least have 
nothing to apprehend, nothing to guard against. This 
is the disposition when without an ache or a pain, tiiey 
mingle in gay, in dissolute scenes, and almost invite dis- 
ease. But, let them be prostrated suddenly, let them be 
enfeebled by some raging fever, paralyzed by some sud- 
den shock, agonized by some mysterious inward dis- 
organization, and then, how striking the change ! The 
strong man becomes as weak and helpless as a child, 
the bold spirit is subdued, the firm will and the stout 
heart are compelled to yield, and the real value of 
health, its priceless worth, its power and its influence 
are duly considered. Then it is that all the vanities 
of the world sink into nothing by comparison. Then 
it is that the empty pleasures and the heartless dis- 
sipations are regarded with penitence, if not disgust. 
Then it is that the accountability of man to God is 
duly appreciated and considered. Then it is that 
solemn thoughts crowd upon the mind, broken prom- 
ises rush back upon the memory, sins of omission and 
commission appear in vivid array before the excited 
imagination. Then it is that the subdued, the broken 
and the contrite spirit turns to the Great Source of 
consolation, and then is forgiveness asked and amend- 
ment promised. A better life is resolved upon. The 
16 



260 THE INVALID. 






thoughts assume a meditative, a solemn and a religious 
cast, the chances and changes of fortune are duly esti- 
mated ; the world, its realities and its accountabilities 
adequately appreciated ; and the true nature of human 
things, earthly projects and mortal enterprises, are 
weighed in the balance, are contrasted and compared 
with the acts that will not perish, with the things of 
eternity. It is thus that sickness is made useful, if 
not essential. It at once persuades and subdues. It 
shows the imperfection of man, and his dependence 
upon the Creator. It touches his heart, it stimulates 
his sensibility, it exhibits his weakness, and it induces 
him to bound his wishes, his desires and his appetites, 
and to remember his accountability. At this moment, 
how many of the meritorious poor, how many of the 
unfortunate, the misguided and the neglected, are lan- 
guishing upon beds of anguish, and have been so lan- 
guishing for weeks or months ! Alas ! for their suffer- 
ings, especially if they have no friends to pour into 
their ears the words of hope and of consolation, if they 
have no loving hands to wipe the sweat of agony from 
their foreheads, if they have no ministering angels to 
hover around their pillows, to Watch each changing 
movement with anxiety and affection. It is sad 
enough for the affluent to be thus prostrated and thus 
to suffer ; but when without all the assistance, comfort 
and attention that money and friends can command, 
the physical nature is bowed down, and the physical 
man is made to writhe with agony, the blessing of 
health may indeed be adequately appreciated. Let 
all who are in its enjoyment, endeavor to preserve it 
and be grateful; and when by any chance or circum- 
stance, the case of an unfortunate invalid is presented, 



THE POWER Oj? HABIT. 261 

one who is suffering under the combined ills of sick 
ness and poverty, let them manifest the noblest im 
pulses of sympathy, not only by words ; but by deeds, 
not merely by empty and hollow pretence, but by 
real, positive and prompt consolation and assistance. 
Then, indeed, will they realize the advantages of their 
own position, and manifest a spirit of appreciation, 
benevolence and gratitude, by acting out the part of 
the Good Samaritan. 



t f otor of jabit; or, % hk Waxte 
of 



"At first distasteful, it at last became his master." 

THE power of habit is, in many cases, irresistible. 
Thousands of individuals are at this moment 
rapidly hastening to the grave, in consequence of the 
indulgence of some vile taste, and who, fully aware of 
the fact, are still unable to control or restrain them- 
selves. "They resolve, and re-resolve, and die the 
same." They have their moments of sanity, penitence 
and determination, and at such times, seeing the fatal 
course they are pursuing, they reason calmly with 
themselves, and promise amendment and reform. But 
the temptation is too powerful, the habit is too fixed, 
and thus they violate all that they had determined 
upon, and rush on as blindly as ever. This is espe- 
cially the case with the victims of intemperance. 
16 



262 THE POWER OF HABIT. 

They feel that they are descending in the scale of 
humanity day by day— they know that a premature 
grave is before them — they determine to abate or 
abandon the intoxicating bowl, but the habit has be- 
come a master and a tyrant, and they lack the nerve 
to break the bonds in which they are bound. 

And so ; also, with many other vile habits. That 
of idleness may be referred to. It creeps upon the 
mind and the body slowly, until at last it enervates, 
deteriorates and vitiates. The idler fancies, at first, 
that he will never come to harm, that his principles 
are too sound, his integrity too reliable. Nevertheless, 
as the mind relaxes, and the body is enfeebled, so also 
does the moral nature lose its firmness, and become 
liable to temptation and to vice. If the real histories 
of the inmates of our almshouses and our penitentiaries 
could be ascertained, idleness would be found as the 
source of many a downward career, many an evil pro- 
pensity, and many a fallen fortune. 

The habit of scandal is also base, criminal and 
dangerous. It increases with the meat it feeds on. It 
grows from day to day and from year to year, until, 
at last, it becomes a feature of the moral and social 
nature, in some sense, a necessity of existence. And 
yet the wretched calumniator is often unaware of the 
extent to which he indulges in the propensity. He 
cannot realize his own bitterness and recklessness of 
thought and tongue. Scandal is his element. He re- 
joices in its atmosphere and exults in its victims. His 
appetite is keen and impatient, he seeks for new sub- 
jects, and is never at home or happy, unless some 
mangled or bleeding character is writhing beneath his 
assaults. The penalty is dreadful in the end, for 



THE POWER OF HABIT. 263 

sooner or later, in all such, cases, the retribution is at 
once certain and fearful. 

But the power of habit is extraordinary and almost 
incredible. A celebrated writer affirms that " tobacco 
is used among no less than eight hundred millions 
of men." Opium and other drugs also have their 
millions of devotees. The craving for such narcotics, 
and the habit of gratifying it, are described as little 
less universal than the desire for and the practice of 
consuming the necessary material of our common 
food." "What a commentary upon habit! But the 
story of Coleridge, the celebrated poet, and that of De 
Quincy, the far-famed English opium-eater, are still 
more striking illustrations, and full of admonition. 
At first, too, the indulgence in tobacco is distasteful. 
It is used with disgust, and produces nausea. Never- 
theless, persisted in and adhered to, and an appetite is 
engendered of the most extraordinary character. So, 
too, with regard to opium. And so also in relation to 
ardent spirits. There are few individuals who have a 
natural taste for either of these ; and yet the acquired 
taste creates a habit, which masters not only the appe- 
tite, but the mind, and absolutely overwhelms the 
moral nature. An individual, moreover, on being 
told at first the danger of these fascinating soothers and 
exciters, will ridicule the possibility of their ever 
becoming a necessity, and treat the idea of over- 
indulgence with derision and contempt. Neverthe- 
less, as is well known, the victims may be counted by 
thousands, nay, by millions. The slaves of excess in 
one form or another, of tobacco, of opium, of alcohol, 
not to mention many other tempting narcotics, may 
be found in all portions of the earth, among the rude 



264 THE POWER OF HABIT. 






as well as the civilized, among the haughty as well as 
the humble — ia the palace of the prince and in the 
hut of the peasant. Such is poor human nature. " "We 
are indeed feeble creatures, small in bodily strength, 
and a grain of opium will conquer or a few drops of 
laudanum lay us prostrate. But how much weaker 
in mind, when knowing the evils they lead to, we are 
unable to resist the fascinating temptations of these in- 
sidious drugs." And so with regard to alcohol. There 
is scarcely a family in the land that has not suffered 
or is not suffering. Some of the loftiest intellects have 
yielded, some of the noblest hearts have fallen before 
the demon of intemperance. Homes have been made 
desolate, fortunes have been impaired, reputations 
have been sullied. This is, perhaps, the most fatal 
and fearful of all the unfortunate habits of our country. 
Yet it is but a habit — one that steals upon its victim 
like a thief in the night, gradually mastering, control- 
ling, fascinating and destroying. It appeals, too, to all 
the exciting and intoxicating senses, and while it 
whispers of heaven and its beatific enjoyments, it 
hurries on to the darkness, the desolation, the guilt 
and the anguish of that "lower deep" from which the 
mind and the soul recoil with horror. 



"When pain and anguish wring the brow, 
A ministering angel thou !" 



THE duties of a physician are always arduous and 
responsible, but they are especially so in seasons 
of pestilence. A young man who, in the commence- 
ment of life, and after due reflection, determines to 
devote himself to the Medical Profession, must be im- 
bued in some degree with the genuine spirit of 
humanity. The calling is a lofty one in an intel- 
lectual point of view, and it is also a benevolent. It 
looks to the mitigation of human suffering, to the re- 
lief of bodily anguish, to the restoration of physical 
health, and to the many happy associations connected 
therewith. There are some, it is to be apprehended, 
who venture into this high profession without due 
reflection, and indeed without possessing the necessary 
qualifications. Such persons do not consider that they 
will be called upon to deal in some sense with the 
lives of human beings, to wrestle with disease in many 
forms, and to contend against the approaches of even 
death itself. But a physician who thoroughly under- 
stands his art, and devotes himself to it, not only in a 
spirit of enlightened science, but of generous and 
sympathetic humanity, is not only one of the most 
useful members of society, but he often becomes a 
ministering angel. Nay, he frequently is afforded an 

(265) 



266 THE PHYSICIAN 

opportunity of soothing and healing the "wounds of 
the mind, as well as those of the body, and of thus 
cheering and reviving the mental and moral as well 
as the physical nature. 

The profession is, in many respects, one of the most 
exhausting of all the occupations of man. He who 
devotes himself to it, is expected to be ready at all hours 
and all seasons, amid sunshine and storm, at midday and 
at midnight, as well in the sultry heats of summer, as 
in the piercing blasts of winter. At times too, be he 
however skillful, however experienced, however clear 
of head and firm of hand, the anxieties and responsi- 
bilities of the post must weigh fearfully, and he must 
hesitate lest there should be any error in his judgment, 
an error that might prove fatal to his patient. The 
regularly educated medical man, one who feels that 
he is a thorough master of the science, one who under- 
stands the anatomy of the human frame, and has de- 
voted himself for years and years to the acquisition 
of a thorough knowledge of his business, is, of course^ 
rarely troubled with the hesitation and apprehension 
to which we have referred. But in this country, ancf 
in almost every other, there are many who undertake 
to discharge the duties of a physician, who are not 
duly qualified — who, in fact, and for the most part, 
are mere empirics and pretenders, and hence they fre- 
quently prescribe rashly, injudiciously, nay, some- 
times fatally. This is indeed a fearful piece of pre- 
sumption, and may be said to involve indirect murder. 
The responsibility of the medical office may, therefore, 
be duly inferred. We can conceive of nothing more 
solenn. The t:ue physician, when somewhat per- 



THE PHYSICIAN. 267 

plexed in relation to the condition of his patient, will 
seek through every possible avenue of information, 
will consult not only his hooks, but other practitioners 
of experience ; and thus in the multitude of counsellor 
endeavor to discover a safe course of treatment. He 
will naturally feel that the life of a human being is in 
his hands, and he will govern his conduct accordingly. 
The false physician, the empiric and the pretender, 
must harden his heart, deaden his sensibilities, and 
blind himself to all the grave responsibilities of his 
position, for it is only under such circumstances that 
he will be able to summon courage enough to move 
straight forward in a path which to him is often one of 
mystery, and which to the invalid whose case is confided 
to his keeping, may prove one of premature death. 

It is, however, in the hour of pestilence, and when 
the members of a whole community are panic-stricken, 
that the faculties of the medical man are taxed to the 
utmost, that his moral courage is tested, and his capa- 
city for the profession is fully put to the trial. It is 
every way honorable to the profession, that at such 
times, it rarely occurs that a regularly educated phy- 
sician fails or falters in his duty. Within a few years 
we have been called upon to record many laudable 
instances of fidelity — fidelity which closed in martyr- 
dom and in death. In the city of Savannah, some 
of the noblest spirits of the profession were swept 
away. So also at New Orleans, at Charleston, and at 
Pittsburg. Nay, we have not heard of a single in- 
stance of dereliction from the path of duty, of moral 
cowardice, of disgraceful flight. A profession, there- 
fore, whose members, one and all, remain firm and 
true under such circumstances, who take their lives 



268 THE PHYSICIAN. 

in their hands, and brave death in its most appalling 
form, is indeed, an honor to humanity. All pecuniary 
reward is as nothing at such a critical moment. The 
sense of duty is the impelling and controlling motive, 
a sense that is identified with the profession, and a 
departure from which would be regarded, not only 
with censure, but with surprise and indignation. It 
is stated that one of the physicians of Pittsburg made 
no less than ninety visits during twenty -four hours of 
a single week, while several others were so exhausted 
by their labors, as to render it necessary to adopt some 
artificial means to enable them to remain at their 
posts. And such, indeed, is the history of the medical 
profession throughout the country. All honor, there- 
fore, to an avocation that is distinguished by such 
true humanity. It is, indeed, an easy thing to rejoice 
with the prosperous, to sympathize with the affluent, 
and to associate with the robust. But when sickness 
and death are abroad, when pestilence and epidemic 
are striking down victim after victim, when the hearse 
passes from door to door, and the emblems of mourn- 
ing are to be seen in every street, it requires more 
than an ordinary effort of courage and resolution, to 
contend against the feebleness and the fears of poor 
human nature, and hence the conduct of the physicians 
of the land, such as we have described it, is entitled 
to appreciation, to remark, and to eulogy. Let us at 
least show the noble profession that we hold it at its 
true value, that we understand all its responsibilities, 
and that we can admire as well the moral heroism 
that is displayed in the city of pestilence, as in the 
chivalrio exploits of the battle-field. Kay, measured 
in the scale of humanity, and the former rises im- 



FORETHOUGHT. 269 

measurably beyond the most brilliant exploits of even 
military genius. One seeks to restore — the other to 
destroy — one to sustain and protract life — the other to 
trample out that, which no human being can bring 
back. One is godlike and truly benevolent — the 
other, alas! is often disfigured by passion, excitement, 
violence and blood ! 



j0ret|oHg|t; or, f 00k before §011 feajj. 

THEEE is, perhaps, no quality more essential to 
success in life than forethought. And yet there 
is no quality which by the masses is so generally dis- 
regarded. This is especially the case with the people 
of this country. They misapply the apothegm, that 
sufficient for the clay is the evil thereof. They live 
only for the present, and take no heed for the morrow. 
And hence it is that so many experience disappoint- 
ment, and faint and fail by the way. In ordinary 
cases, and when an individual sets out on a journey, 
calculated to occupy a week or a fortnight, he makes 
due preparations, and provides himself not only with 
the means of going, but of returning. With reference 
to the great journey of life, this prudent system is 
rarely adopted. The multitude rush on thoughtlessly 
and seem willing to trust to chance, rather than to 
provide against dangers and emergencies. The results 
in too many cases are deplorable. The exercise of 
forethought is essential daily and hourly. There is 



270 FORETHOUGHT. 

scarcely an individual, who at the close of a week, 
cannot on a review of the past, discover sad errors of 
omission or commission, forgotten or perpetrated, for 
want of a little forethought. How many wretched 
beings are now suffering within the walls of our 
Penitentiaries, who on cool reflection are able to trace 
their errors and misdoings to a rash and inconsiderate 
spirit, or in other words, to a want of due reflection 
and forethought. And so, indeed, throughout every 
phase and condition of society. Only a few days since, 
in a neighboring city, two cousins who had long been 
on the most intimate terms of friendship and affection, 
entered into an argument which resulted in blows. 
The excitement was but momentary, and reason sood 
resumed her empire. Then both were deeply morti- 
fied, and while eacfk admitted that he was hot and 
hasty, each also conceded that a moment's considera- 
tion and forethought would have prevented an occur- 
rence, to which they will refer with pain and mortifi- 
cation for years. But even in our daily interviews 
and conversations, some degree of forethought should 
be exercised. There are some individuals who are 
naturally flippant. They jest and mock, even with 
Death himself standing by. The misfortunes of a 
neighbor, or the afflictions of a friend, are made topics 
of heartless remark or malignant insinuation. This is 
a sad habit, and one that is calculated to produce 
infinite mischief. Nothing perhaps is so sensitive 
as credit and character, and the individual who in- 
dulges in idle scandal upon such topics, may inflict an 
injury which a life time of apology and repentance 
may not wholly retrieve. The familiar but celebrated 
passage of the Bard of Avon, in which he alludes to 



FORETHOUGHT. 271 

reputation as of priceless value, and far more import- 
ant than gold, is full of force and pith, and should be 
treasured at once as a truth and an admonition. The 
miserable beings who delight in fabricating and circu- 
lating false reports, who, in fact, gloat over the ruin 
of their fellow- creatures, are a disgrace to humanity. 
They are criminals of the vilest kind, and yet, in many 
cases, they cannot be reached and adequately punished, 
because of their very insignificance. Their thoughts 
are bent on mischief. A malignant demon seems to 
have taken possession of their minds and hearts, and 
they rarely lose an opportunity of fabricating a scandal. 
There are others again, who are the causes of much 
injury, because they can not or will not consider. 
They have no forethought. They talk loosely and 
rapidly, and they delight in running from point to 
point, and circulating evil tidings. A terrible infirmity, 
and one that should be punished, whenever an oppor- 
tunity presents. How many difficulties would be es- 
caped, how many disasters would be avoided, how 
many families would be spared days and nights of 
anxiety and pain, and how many friendships would be 
strengthened, by the exercise of a little forethought ! 
And what, gentle reader, is YOUR case ? What con- 
trol have you over your tongue, your mind, or your 
pen ? Are you rash, reckless and imprudent — or are 
you calm, cool, deliberate and thoughtful? Are you 
in the habit of thinking before you speak, or of speak- 
ing first, and then thinking afterward ? These are 
questions which you can answer for yourself; and 
whatever the answer may be, we earnestly urge and 
admonish, that in all future transactions of life, you 
endeavor to exercise the policy, the prudence, and the 



272 FORBEARANCE. 

virtue of a little forethought. Such a course can- 
not do harm, and it may obviate difficulties. " Look 
before you leap" — is an old adage, but it is sensible, 
practical and wise. 



Jiotafitttr-; |ts $ hint aito its Jdajj. 



I was sad, and he comforted me.' 



FORBEARANCE is a virtue that cannot be too 
constantly practiced. Human nature is frail and 
infirm, and scarcely a day goes by in which errors 
and indiscretions are not committed. Some are rash 
in speech, others are rash in deed. Some are narrow 
in spirit, and hence are niggardly and parsimonious, 
while others are so prodigal or so generous that they 
spend more than they earn, and thus involve them- 
selves in difficulty and debt. There is nothing perfect 
on this side the grave. All have vices and weak- 
nesses, all yield at times to excitement or temptation, 
all commit errors of omission or commission, and thus 
all require the exercise of indulgence and forbearance. 
Such being the condition of affairs in ordinary times, 
how much more essential is the practice of " the gen- 
tle virtues" at a crisis like the present, and with so 
many in embarrassed and suffering circumstances I 

" Tho«mercy I to others show, 
That mercy show to me." 

This sentiment is at once moral, magnanimous and 



FORBEARANCE. 2itf 

humane. On all sides we hear of cases of misfortune. 
Men who have been for half a century engaged in 
commercial pursuits, have been prostrated as by a sud- 
den blow. A storm has come upon them like a thun- 
derbolt from a summer cloud. ISTo ordinary prudence 
could have forewarned or protected. The earnings 
of a lifetime have been swept away in a moment. 
The agony of mind that has been experienced has 
been intense. Eeason herself has tottered upon her 
throne. Nevertheless, honor and integrity have been 
adhered to, sacrifice after sacrifice has been made, and 
all that human energy could do has been accomplished. 
If, after such struggles, trials and exertions, it has 
been found impossible to maintain a cherished posi- 
tion, the creditor should at least exercise the most 
generous forbearance. It is hard enough for the strong 
man to fall without being thereafter pursued in a 
selfish, avaricious or persecuting spirit. Eather let 
sympathy be expressed, and assistance be rendered. 
These may encourage, relieve and revive, and thus 
minister in the end as well to the advantage of the 
creditor as the debtor. A contrary course may induce 
desperation and despair. It should be remembered, 
too, that there is no human being who breathes the 
breath of life, no matter how independent his posi- 
tion may apparently be, who is not liable to vicissi- 
tude and calamity of some kind. He may be power- 
ful to-day and powerless to-morrow. He may in one 
hour exult in all the pride of wealth, position and in- 
fluence, and in another he may lie writhing and pros- 
trate on a bed of sickness, perhaps of death. Even 
while he pursues his victim debtor, the insatiate archer 
may be in pursuit of him. We are all fallible and 



274 FORBEARANCE. 

mortal ; all feeble and dependent human beings. And 
such being the case, we should deal with others as we 
would they should deal with us under like circum- ! 
stances. We should not exact every thing in a grasp- 
ing and selfish spirit, for the time may come, either 
here or hereafter, when more may be exacted of us ; 
than we can redeem. A few days since we conversed 
with one of our best and most respected citizens, who, 
somewhat depressed by the circumstances of the times, 
confessed that he was anxious for the future, but said 
he had nothing to fear if two of his heaviest creditors 
would only deal generously toward him and give him 
a little time. He had hardly spoken before he re- 
ceived a note from one, in which the writer said that 
he had heard of the embarrassment of an old and 
esteemed friend, and that " he was happy to be able, 
not only to withhold his own claim for a time, but to 
offer some assistance, if necessary." The cloud at 
once passed from the brow of the anxious debtor, a 
tear of joy trembled in his eye, and for a moment his 
voice became hoarse with emotion. But, alas! how 
rarely are these acts of generosity and forbearance 
practiced! Nevertheless, they cannot be too earnestly 
encouraged. Forbearance, we repeat, is a virtue that 
should be constantly cultivated. Not a day goes by 
in which it may not be displayed with advantage. It 
is suited as well to the domestic circle and the family 
fireside, as the out- door world. All, we repeat, have 
their faults and their infirmities, all their errors of tem- 
per and habit, and all should bear and forbear. When 
reflecting upon or censuring others, when taking ex- 
ception to the manners and morals of a friend or 
neighbor, when criticising sharply and harshly the 



PERSEVERANCE. 275 

folly and extravagance that have led to indebtedness 
or misfortune, we should not forget the necessity of 
self-investigation, or overlook our own shortcomings. 
The mote may be in the eye of another and the beam 
in our own eye. But above all things, if we have the 
power, and if, by the exercise of clemency and forbear- 
ance, we can heal a wounded heart, and soothe a 
broken spirit, let us show that we are not dead to 
sympathy, or indifferent to suffering, and pursue the 
part at once of a philanthropist, a brother, and a man. 



Jjttst&ttratt; 0r Slime, Jai% rah fcgg, 

" Hope on — hope ever." 

WE think that it is Bulwer, who, in one of his 
most celebrated novels, argues that almost 
every difficulty to which human beings are liable in 
the progress of events, may be overcome by time, 
faith, and ENERGY. The doctrine is certainly en- 
couraging, and it will in a great majority of cases, be 
found correct. There may, of course be exceptions, 
but they will prove few and far between. There is 
nothing like perseverance in the affairs of this life. 
By this, we do not mean a blind, bigoted, and dogged 
disposition, a determination to adhere to one idea, how- 
ever absurd, and under all circumstances, but a calm, 
cool, and resolute spirit, which is not intimidated by 
trifles, which is not overcome by a momentary re 
verse, which never loses faith in right, justice, and an 

n 



276 PERSEVERANCE. 

overruling Providence, and which at the same time re- 
laxes no efforts within human scope and means. It is, 
we are aware, not a little difficult to wrestle with mis- 
fortune, and rise again and again from the strong 
blows of adversity by which men are suddenly de- 
pressed. But while the mental and physical faculties 
continue in full vigor, there is hope, and by the exer- 
cise of faith and energy, the vicissitudes that interrupt 
our progress and overcloud the mind, will gradually 
give way, No one can read the future. No one can 
tell what a day will bring forth ; and it is this very 
mystery as regards the coming time, that should in- 
duce us to persevere to the last, to struggle on from 
day to day, hoping, trusting, believing that a change 
for the better is at hand. How many can now look 
back to the past, and trace their thorough recovery 
from misfortune, to this hopeful and faith-inspiring 
spirit. How many, indeed, of the saved among the 
passengers of the Central America struggled on for 
hours, and at last realized the expectation that kindled 
a flame of courage in their breasts, by being relieved 
and succored! Others again, it is quite possible, gave 
themselves up to despair long before it was necessary, 
and thus perished amidst the stormy waters. And so 
with every phase and condition of life. All are liable 
to chances and changes, — all are surrounded at times 
by difficulties and dangers, to overcome which requires 
not only the exercise of moral courage, but of physical 
effort. It is at such times and seasons that the doc- 
trine of the celebrated novelist is particularly applic- 
able. Time, faith, and energy are the great restorers. 
Only a few days since, we heard of the case of an in- 
dividual who, depressed in spirits and excited in mind 



PERSEVERANCE. 277 

by the then existing monetary excitement, was dis- 
posed to abandon all further efforts, and to yield to 
what he regarded as the necessities of the case. For- 
tunately he called one or two friends to his councils, 
exhibited his books to them, listened to their advice, 
determined to make one more courageous effort, and 
immediately thereafter discovered that he had sur- 
mounted every difficulty, and that his course for the 
future would be comparatively easy. The cloud 
passed from his mind, the depression from his heart, 
and now that he looks back, he is only surprised that 
he desponded or hesitated for a moment. There was, 
indeed, no serious cause for apprehension, and he was 
unnecessarily alarmed. And thus it often happens. 
Courage is absolutely essential, as well in the commer- 
cial world as upon the battle-field, and timidity and 
despondency are the worst of counsellors in a season 
of difficulty and danger. Time, faith, and energy are, 
we repeat, the great essentials, and "hope on — hope 
ever," forms a motto and a maxim that should be kept 
steadily and constantly in view by all who are en- 
gaged in the great struggle for independence, and who 
are fighting what has been emphatically designated as 
the battle of life. To-day may be dark, desolate, and 
cheerless, but to-morrow may be full of cheerfulness 
and sunshine. It is often so in the material world, as 
well as in the moral, the social, and the commercial. 
Above all things, hold fast to the priceless jewels of 
honor and integrity, and never abandon a good cause, 
a-great enterprise, or a laudable object, while a soli- 
tary hope remains. 
17 



anh lis 



" But still he is thy brother." 

OF late years the subject of prison discipline has 
engaged the attention of many of our most en- 
lightened statesmen and philanthropists. They have 
sought three objects : — 

First, the protection of society and the security of 
life and property. 

Second, the arrest and adequate punishment of the 
criminal. 

Third, his reform and cure ; and thus his restoration 
to the ways of well doing. 

These, the reader will perceive, cover the whole 
ground. They constitute features of a system at once 
decisive and humane. There are in society at least 
six kinds of criminals. 

First, those who have become so through the agency 
of ignorance and bad example. 

Second, the victims of misfortune and despair, who 
have been unable to summon sufficient moral energy 
to resist temptation. 

Third, the intemperate, who, in their moments of 
excitement and delirium, know not what they do. 

Fourth, the idle, who first commence with begging, 
and then degenerate into stealing. 

Fifth, the viciously inclined, who, from some evil 
propensity of nature, prefer a dishonest to an honest 
course. 

(278) 






THE CRIMINAL AND HIS CURE. 279 

Sixth, the greedy, the grasping, the avaricious, who, 
in their eagerness to obtain wealth, do not stop to in- 
quire into the means. 

But there are other phases and features of wrong- 
doing, which will easily suggest themselves to the 
minds of the intelligent — there are unfortunates upon 
whom the brand of the felon and the criminal is in- 
delibly fixed, but who, nevertheless, should be re- 
garded as the victims of circumstances. They have 
been tempted in an evil hour to violate the laws, either 
from intemperance, passion, or despair ; have then been 
abandoned by friends, and handed over to the courts 
of justice, sometimes without consideration, and often 
without mercy. It is these, therefore, that we would 
endeavor to assist, encourage, and cure. Their condi- 
tion is deplorable, view it as we may. and the prospect 
before them is full of clouds and darkness. Even 
when they have served out their time, and been sent 
into the world again, the finger of scorai is too often 
pointed at them, they find it impossible to obtain the 
means of livelihood, and are again driven into the 
ways of indiscretion and crime. Is it not possible to 
do something for this wretched class ? Are they, for 
a first offence, to be for ever abandoned and proscribed ? 
According to the official documents, there were last 
year confined within fourteen penitentiaries* of the 
United States, no less than five thousand human 
beings. Their periods of sentence vary from three 
months to sixty years, while more than one hundred 
and fifty are doomed to durance vile for the term nf 
their natural lives. Many have wives, children, and 
homes; and while some maybe regarded as hardened, 
incorrigible, and incurable, a majority, according to 



280 THE CRIMINAL AND HIS CURE. 

the testimony of those who have given this subject due 
attention, are capable of being thoroughly reformed. 
What a field is here presented for genuine humanity ! 
Even the forger, the burglar, and the felon, might be 
taught by sympathy, kindness, and assistance, that 
honesty is the best policy, and that " virtue alone is 
happiness below." We are aware that in nearly every 
great city of the Union, good Samaritans may be 
found, who travel out of the ordinary paths of life, and 
penetrate not only the lowest hovels, but the darkest 
abysses of crime, in the hope of rescuing some fallen 
brother. So, too, there are visitors to our almshouses 
and penitentiaries, the object being to fan into fresh 
life any spark of former integrity that may yet remain, 
and to win back from their evil courses, the misguided, 
the despairing, and the penitent. But the field is wide, 
and the reapers are comparatively few. The work, 
too, is one that does not commend itself to ordinary 
minds, and thus it is that hundreds grovel in the depths 
of despair — sink lower and lower in their own estima- 
tion, and when at last they are permitted once more to 
look again into the faces of their fellow-men, they feel 
like outcasts, imagine phantoms, and, in too many 
cases, lapse into the old vices, and thus wink to rise no 
more. We repeat the question, cannot something be 
done to rescue, reform, and save the multitude of crim- 
inals, who become so in the first instance from causes 
which, to a certain extent, are beyond their control ? 
All are not guilty to a like extent, although they may 
be doomed to the same punishment. The antecedents, 
the education, the privations, and the temptations, 
should all be taken into consideration when we are 
about to pass judgment upon the misguided, the erring, 



IDLERS AND PR0SEE3. '281 

and even the criminal. Let us, while we thank heaven 
that our lines have been cast in better places, not only 
feel for those who have been less fortunate, but utter 
a word of hope, and stretch forth a helping hand ; if in 
our power. 



$bks irafr jjroatw. 



NOT long since, we had occasion to call upon a 
friend upon business of a somewhat serious na- 
ture to the parties concerned. During the interview, 
an acquaintance stepped in on some trifling affair of 
his own, in behalf of which he desired to obtain the 
sympathy and assistance of our friend. These were 
generously promised. In fact, the matter under dis- 
cussion at the time, required prompt attention and an 
early decision, and hence our friend stopped the other 
before he had proceeded half way with his narrative, 
for he saw his object at once, and supposed that a 
ready compliance would induce his prompt withdrawal, 
especially as it was evident, to one of the slightest pene- 
tration, that a private matter was in hand. But the 
intruder could not be disposed of so easily. He talked 
and talked upon a dozen trifling subjects, the other 
persons present manifesting as much impatience as 
politeness would allow, and he was only induced to 
leave the room by a distinct intimation at last that his 
absence was absolutely necessary. Strange, that he 
could not see the dilemma in which he placed himself 
atid others, or that seeing, he was unwilling to escape 



282 • IDLERS AND PROSERS. 

from it ! But this is no unusual mistake with the idle, 
the prosy, and the weak-minded. Not satisfied with 
wasting their own time, they annoy others at seasons 
of business or privacy, and thus not only make them 
feel unpleasant and irritable, but they absolutely rob 
them of moments which are often far more valuable 
than money. There are seasons for all things. There 
are times when the appearance of a friend, a neighbor, 
or an acquaintance, is most acceptable, and when life 
is sweetened and brightened by social and agreeable 
conversation, by interchange of thought and reci- 
procity of goodwill. But, again, there are moments 
when visits are altogether inopportune, when polite- 
ness and duty dictate that brevity should be the rule 
of the hour. True, all cannot discriminate as to such 
seasons, and hence the liability to make mistakes. 
But when we call upon a neighbor in a friendly way, 
and discover that if we tarry long we will rather an- 
noy than gratify, the sooner that a good excuse is 
found for leave-taking the better. There is tact in 
every thing — in love, in friendship, in fashion, in dress, 
and in visiting. But the most provoking kind of an- 
noyers are the idlers, who, indisposed to active em 
ployment themselves, are constantly haunting the places 
of business of others, listening to conversation not in- 
tended for their ears, and prying into affairs in which 
they have no concern. If they are determined to be 
indolent, let them be so. Theirs is the responsibility. 
But if unwilling themselves to take an active and use- 
ful part in the business of life, they should at least not 
interfere with the affairs of others. They should keep 
away from stores and counting-rooms during business 
hours. They should retire on the appearance of a 



IDLERS AND PROSERS. 283 

customer, and by no means venture to interfere in 
conversation in which they have not been invited to 
take part. Doubtless many of our readers are annoyed 
with characters of the class described. The complaint 
with many such is that they can get nothing to do ; 
but the truth is, that in most cases they have no dis- 
position for industry. 

There is another species of good-natured nuisance 
entitled to a passing remark. We allude to persons 
who occupy a long time in describing a very small 
matter, who will seize you by the button-hole in the 
street, and detain you for half an hour, in detailing an 
event of little or no consequence ; and this, too, when 
you are in great haste, and anxious for the transaction 
of important business. The temper of the detained 
must be most angelic to tolerate many repetitions of 
this annoyance. Good nature is a blessing, and it 
should be exercised on all possible occasions ; but we 
are all mortal, all fallible, and should not be tempted 
beyond endurance. The doctrine of minding one'? 
business, is not only sound and practical, but idlers 
should extend it a little further, and when they have 
no business of their own to attend to, they should be 
careful not to annoy their neighbors who have. 



mttjj tens prat.-- Unke pontage k 

" It lures the pirate, and corrupts the friend." 

" To whom can riches give repute or trust, 
Content or pleasure, but the good and just." 

THE homage that is so generally paid to wealth, and 
often without regard to merit, appears to us the 
consequence of a great weakness, if not worse. The in- 
quiry with the thousands is not as to the virtue and 
purity of a man — not as to his integrity, disposition, 
and principles, but his worldly means I They seem to 
imagine that money "covers a multitude of sins," and 
they are quite willing to be on terms of intimacy with 
individuals who are affluent, no matter what their 
errors of omission or commission, and utterly regard- 
less of the mode by which they acquired fortune ; 
Nay, if these individuals were poor, they would be 
shunned, contemned, and despised; but being rich, 
they are courted and flattered. Is not this a sad error ? 
and is it not calculated to teach the young that money 
is preferable to merit, that virtue may be sacrificed 
with impunity, provided thereby a fortune can be 
acquired ? Is it not calculated to exalt vice and de- 
press virtue — to corrupt the very sources and springs 
of integrity and principle ? The evil to which we refer 
is forcibly illustrated at a certain season of the year, 
?nd especially at the many summer resorts and fashion- 
(284) 



MONEY VERSUS MERIT. 281 

able -watering-places. Let a thoughtful observer min 
gle in the crowd at such " localities," inquire into his 
tories, analyze character, and review conduct. He wilt 
discover that, in far too many cases, those who are re- 
garded as the possessors of the largest fortunes, who 
expend the most money and make the greatest dis- 
play, are the flattered, the envied, and courted; and 
this, too, no matter how soiled they may be in fame, 
how darkened by misdeeds, how unfeeling or unprin- 
cipled in the affairs of ordinary life. 

The idea of associating with the rich, appears to 
delude and fascinate weak minds. They indulge in 
the absurd error that such association excites the envy 
of the lookers-on, and that thus " the poor parasites" 
are elevated in the scale of society. And this, too, 
although the money- worshipers may be utterly stain- 
less in character — may have lived lives of integrity 
and well-doing — may, in fact, possess merit, talent, 
and "good name," far above and beyond the mere 
possessor of wealth — and wealth, too, acquired by 
improper means. The sad delusion prevails to a fear- 
ful extent. Parents inculcate it by example. They 
indirectly teach their children to seek out the wealthy 
for associates, even when the reputation of such asso- 
ciates will not bear the test of examination, while they 
turn away with coldness and indifference from the 
comparatively poor, however meritorious or unsullied. 
Only a few days since we heard a mother finish a por- 
trait of a very dissolute young man, with the apolo- 
getic aflfl. unprincipled remark — "but, he is very rich!" 
The spirit and meaning of her language and manner 
were — " true, he is worthless and profligate ; but then 
he possesses abundant means, and money is the God 
of our idolatry." 



286 MONEY VERSUS MERIT. 

Let us not be misunderstood. It is desirable, very 
desirable, to acquire a pecuniary independence, to live 
with comfort, not to say luxury. Nevertheless, char- 
acter is far better than money, is " above and beyond 
all price," while principle is deathless, and influences 
and affects not only the thoughts, feelings, and emo- 
tions of this life, but the complexion, the lights and 
shadows of that which is to come. A departure from 
the path of rectitude in early life, even with the object 
and the prospect of thereby securing a pecuniary ad- 
vantage, is sure in the end to lead to fatal conse- 
quences. Let the young be taught that they may with 
impunity violate truth, outrage morality, and trample 
upon virtue, and their downward career will be rapid 
and ruinous. Success at first — worldly success — will 
only induce them to venture still further in the wrong 
path, and thus hasten their fall. Is he upright ? Is 
he honest ? Is he true ? These are the proper ques- 
tions. Enterprise, activity, energy, are every way 
commendable. They are, indeed, essential to success 
in every pursuit of life. But, with these, integrity and 
truth should invariably be associated. And thus, after 
having toiled on for years, and accumulated "enough 
and to spare," the conscience will be calm and tran- 
quil, the mind satisfied, and the heart at ease. The 
past will have no terror, and the future will be con- 
templated with hope, promise, and confidence. Let 
another course be pursued, let money be the only 
object, regardless of truth, integrity, benevolence, and 
sympathy, and no fortune, however large, wil^soothe 
and satisfy, will " calm the spirit and tranquillize the 
soul." The " still, small voice" within will whisper 
words of admonition, and in quiet hours, when thought 



MONEY VERSUS MERIT. 287 

is restless, a thousand painful memories will come 
back, and with them a thousand pangs of sorrow, of 
regret, and of remorse. The penalty, too, is sure 
Even in this world, the punishment in most cases will 
be fearful. The individual who deliberately wrongs a 
neighbor, who cunningly darkens a reputation, who 
stealthily defrauds, or wantonly injures, will find that, 
sooner or later, retribution, cool, bitter, but just, will 
be awarded. The only true policy for the erring is, to 
make prompt and ample atonement. The task may be 
hard, and hence the urgent necessity for its execution. 
And yet there are individuals who live on for years in 
splendor and in affluence, who know and feel their 
indebtedness to others, (others who, from the force of 
circumstances, have become needy and in want,) and 
who yet lack the nerve, the manliness, the justice, 
and the generosity to requite the obligation. They 
feel the indebtedness, and they have the means ; but 
with a spirit utterly unworthy, they shrink away from 
the subject, strive to forget it, or deceive themselves 
by some specious argument, into a shameful and atro- 
cious neglect of their duty. Are there none such 
among our readers ? Are there none who are now 
prosperous who were once indigent, and who for years 
have been forgetful of their early benefactors ? Are 
there none who worship wealth so thoroughly, as to 
have their perceptions upon .all other subjects blunted 
and blinded ? Are there none who neglect friends 
and neighbors, who are truly meritorious, to run 
after the profligate, the heartless, but the worldly and 
the wealthy ? Are there none who labor under the 
strange delusion, that by moving in the society of the 
rich, they likewise will be supposed by the unsophisti- 



28$ ENOUGH. 

cated to be rich, and will be envied also? Are there 
none who mistake money for merit, and in this mistake 
render themselves objects of ridicule and contempt — 
and " pawn their souls for an empty bauble ?" 



€n0itg|; or, % fjfcpfe rf Contentment 

" O, grant me, Heaven, a middle state, 
Neither too humble, nor too great ; 
More than enough for nature's ends, 
With something left for poor and friends." 

WE, a few days since, met with a worthy citizen 
about sixty years of age, who had just retired 
from business. He was in good health and high 
spirits, but he had been engaged in manufacturing 
pursuits for something like forty years, had earned a 
pecuniary independence, and to use his own language, 
w r as " satisfied." In brief, he had enough, more than 
sufficient to meet his ordinary wants, and he deemed 
it the policy of wisdom to retire while he could do so 
with safety, and be contented with a reasonable for- 
tune. It would be well for many who are at this 
moment engaged in the active and perilous pursuits 
of commerce and trade, if they could profit by this 
example. The great multitude are not satisfied with 
a moderate fortune. They become avaricious to a 
certain extent, and hence they struggle for more, even 
after they have accumulated a sufficiency, and at the 
risk very often of health and strength, and even life 



ENOUGH. 289 

itself. They are greedy and grasping, and if engaged 
in a profitable business, they are unwilling to abandon 
such a source of income to other hands, either forgetful 
of the short tenure of human life, unmindful of their 
own increasing infirmities, or so absorbed in accumu- 
lation, that they have no time to think either of health 
here, or of destiny hereafter. They thus go on from 
day to day and from year to year, until at last they 
are paralyzed by time or disease, and are hurried into 
another world, before, as they erroneously supposed, 
they had half finished their work in this. 

This is no fancy sketch. Men are apt to become so 
engrossed by the pursuit of wealth, the accumulation 
of property, or the acquisition of power, as to prove 
unmindful of all higher and more thoughtful consider- 
ations. They deceive themselves in many respects. 
They persuade themselves that they are young when 
they are old, that they are strong when they are weak, 
that they are advancing physically and mentally when 
in fact they are declining. How frequently does 
Death surprise even the affluent, before they have 
made provision for the distribution of their property ? 
They cannot bring themselves to part with their earn- 
ings, even on paper, and thus postpone from time to 
time, the important duty of apportioning their estates 
by will, to heirs, friends, and benevolent institutions. 
Let any one mix and mingle in a thoughtful and in- 
quiring spirit in the marts of trade, and watch closely 
and narrowly, the figures and the features of the many 
who day by day devote all their energies to the vari- 
ous objects of enterprise, speculation, and of money- 
getting, and the discovery will then be made, that not 
a few of those who are straining and striving, are, in 





290 ENOUGH. 

the ordinary course of nature, but a year or two distant 
from the grave. They cannot be contented. They are 
not, and never will be satisfied. They can never 
secure enough. More — a little more — is the great ob- 
ject of their toil, and as they pile up dollar upon 
dollar in their coffers, they inwardly promise them- 
selves that they will soon be in a condition of positi\ e 
independence, when they will gracefully retire. But 
year follows year, and they are still as busy as ever, 
or -their places are vacant, and they have departed to 
the land of spirits ! It is, indeed, more difficult to b ; 
contented than the hasty and inconsiderate are apt to 
imagine. With our means, too, our wants almost invari- 
ably increase, and thus, what might have suited at one 
period of life, will not answer at another. It should 
be remembered, moreover, that almost every business 
pursuit is chequered with light and shadow, with ad- 
versity and prosperity ; and that, therefore, all who 
persist, after they have secured enough, encounter the 
risk of losing their dearly-prized earnings, and of thus 
over-leaping the object of their ambition, and perilling 
the very security and independence which they regard 
as so desirable. Hence, when age begins to show itself, 
when the physical man begins to fail, when the mind 
reels and faints under the ordinary efforts and excite- 
ments, it is the policy of prudence to be admonished, 
and if in a condition so to do, to retire quietly from 
the exciting arenas of commerce and of trade. Better 
thus to be contented and satisfied than to toil on under 
the double, risk of losing fortune as well as health, of 
encountering bankruptcy as well as shortening life. 
The human machine, it should be remembered, is cer 
tain to give out after a specified amount of effort, use, 



THE PASSION OF AVARICE. 291 

and exhaustion. This is seen every day, and almost 
every hour. Changes are constantly taking place 
around and about us. We meet, in our daily walks, 
friends, neighbors and acquaintances, bent, feeble and 
failing, who but a year or two ago were apparently 
firm, vigorous and active. But nature has assumed 
her right, and the result is distinct and palpable. And 
so it must be, sooner or later, with all of us. How 
much wiser then, how much, more philosophic, to 
measure and judge ourselves according to the history 
of others, and when we are reminded that we have 
played out our part, that we are descending the hill 
of life, to prepare ourselves accordingly, and to relax 
somewhat of the wear and tear of body and mind that 
are so apt to weaken, paralyze and destroy. And if, 
moreover, we have accumulated enough — if we have 
prospered and attained an independent pecuniary 
position — why should we not be satisfied, and, in a 
spirit of gratitude to Providence, and of justice to our 
fellow man, retire and leave the field to others? 



%\t Iteira of %1wkt—% $kk\ from 

" A little more !" 
" Oh ! what a difference there lies in the definition of that word enough ! " 

IT is said that there is at least one -passion — avarice 
— which strengthens with life and is more power- 
ful in old age and with the grave yawning to receive 
13 



292 THE PASSION OF AVARICE. 

its victim, than at any other period of human existence, 
•Strange — yet true in many cases. The wise and philo- 
sophic should be satisfied with enough, especially after 
they have reached the summit of the mountain of life, 
and are rapidly descending the other side. But Jook 
through society and see how few have enough, how few 
are satisfied, although they may have amassed their 
thousands and tens of thousands. The desire is still 
for more — and this desire, as life advances, too ire 
quently becomes a passion. Yonder, for example, 
passes an individual who cannot be less than sixty-five 
years of age. He is a bachelor, has not a near relative 
in the world, is worth perhaps a hundred thousand 
dollars, and yet, judging from externals and from his 
constant presence in the neighborhood of the money- 
changers, his whole soul is devoted to gain. It has 
become the passion of his life. He is only happy when 
he is accumulating. A few years longer and he must, 
in the course of nature, pass from the scene of busy 
human existence, must leave his gold behind him. 
"Why, then, should he be so anxious for more ? Why 
should he agitate his mind, enfeeble his constitution, 
and impair his health by such perpetual watchfulness 
— such regular visits to the money market during all 
weathers and in all seasons ? It is impossible, even 
now, for him to spend one-fourth of his income. His 
habits are economical, his wants are few, his tastes are 
frugal. The chances are that ten years hence, and he 
will be no longer among the sons of men. And yet to 
see him chaffering in the Stock Market, loaning on a 
promissory note^ and agitated by every change that 
takes place in National or State Bonds, one would 
suppose that he was either comparatively poor, or that 



THE PASSION OF AVARICE. 293 

ne had a guarantee to live at least another century. 
But no — his passion, his God is Avarice, and even 
unconsciously to himself, he sometimes violates the 
rules of order arid probity, in an effort to add a trifle 
further to his accumulated thousands. 

How difficult indeed, is it to ascertain when we have 
enough ! How few know when to retire from the 
busy scenes of commercial life — or having retired, can 
resist the demon-promptings for further gain ! A 
friend at our elbow informs us, that ten years ago, he 
looked forward with hope and anxiety to the period 
when he should be worth twenty thousand dollars, de- 
termined in his own mind that he would then be satis- 
fied, that thereafter his object would merely be em- 
ployment, and that, if his gains were still great, he 
would exercise the most liberal spirit in relation to the 
suffering and the poor. Time passed on, the twenty 
thousand have been attained, aye doubled — and he 
frankly confesses that the desire for more has rather 
increased than diminished. Instead of being satisfied 
with his present position, he admits that he is now 
unwilling to fix a bound to his monetary hopes. True, 
his family has increased, and his expenses have more 
than doubled. But so it is with the multitude. What 
were regarded as luxuries when in moderate circum- 
stances, are looked upon as necessities when we be- 
come rich. 

A few years since, an intelligent merchant of 
Boston was asked to name the sum likely to satisfy a 
man. His reply was — U A little more/" And this is 
the history of a large portion of mankind. The 
philosophy was fully illustrated during the recent 
fluctuations in the price of breadstuff's. The tempta- 



294 THE PASSION OF AVAittCB^ 

tion at first was so great, that hundreds who had ac- 
cumulated fortunes and retired from business, were 
again induced to enter the arena, and many, in their 
efforts to secure " a little more," were hurried on step 
by step, until crash after crash was produced by the 
rapid fall in prices, and they, were engulfed, wrecked, 
ruined. A case of this kind has been mentioned to us 
in a merchant of Liverpool, who a few years since re- 
tired with a fortune of £60,000, or about $300,000. 
The grain excitement came on, prices advanced from 
day to day, thousands were made in a few hours — 
until, maddened by the old mania, he could no longer 
resist the temptation, but plunged again boldly and 
deeply into the feverish speculations of the day. Only 
six months passed by, and so overwhelming were the 
changes, that he was a bankrupt, and comparatively 
speaking, a beggar. Yes — within a period so brief, 
had the desire for more converted him from one of the 
richest in the neighborhood, into one of the poorest. 
The effect upon his mind was so appalling, the depres- 
sion of spirits was so severe, that it was with difficulty 
he could be withheld from resorting to that desperate 
and cowardly mode of escape from worldly grief and 
agony of mind — suicide. 

At this moment, how many are there in Philadel- 
phia who have ''enough and to spare," who have 
abundance for themselves and families, who can by 
a moderate and prudent course extend their annual 
revenue : and who yet are so " greedy of gain," that 
they constantly peril their peace of mind, and the 
worldly independence of their families, in the hope 
and with the desire of obtaining " a little more !" It 
is indeed a difficult thing to ascertain when one has 



THE PASSION OF AVARICE. 295 

enough, and more difficult, if possible, to act in a gener- 
ous and benevolent spirit after we have been blessed 
by Providence with abundance, have attained by good 
luck and good management a position of worldly in- 
dependence. The case of a gentleman of Brooklyn 
may be mentioned as a happy illustration of the true 
policy after an individual has become rich, and still 
finds it necessary to have active employment. It is 
said that some years since, an esteemed citizen of the 
city just named, found, on looking over his affairs, that 
he had realized a fortune of three hundred thousand 
dollars. The sum appeared to him enormous, and far 
more than adequate to his wants and wishes in this 
life. But he could not be idle, and he was by no 
means covetous. He therefore reflected upon the matter 
for some time, and finally determined to invest one 
half the sum ($150,000) as securely as possible for the 
benefit of himself and family, and to continue his busi- 
ness with the other half for the benefit of mankind at 
large, and the poor and deserving of his own immediate 
neighborhood in particular. But alas ! ' this case is 
but one in a thousand. And yet how noble the ex- 
ample I 

" Wealth," — says a favorite author — " wealth, with 
the blessing of God — wealth, the result of honest labor, 
of the unforeseen circumstances of life — wealth to which 
the soul has never surrendered itself — wealth which 
man hath never made an idol, falling down and wor 
shiping it as his fastest security and ultimate good — 
such wealth, the gift of God, like the other talents 
given of God, is good to be used and to be accounted 
for. But wealth, the gift of the devil — wealth, the 
result of the abandonment of the whole man to the 



296 INGRATITUDE. 

object of acquisition — wealth, the first aim, the purpose 
of the clay, the vision of the night — love of wealth — ■ 
passionate devotion to gain — covetousncss, which is idol- 
atry — such wealth proves a cheat and a deception of 
the father of lies : it is like that gold of the fairy tale, 
which sooner or later turns out to be but withered 
leaves ; for the hour will come and must come, when 
every thing will be tried by a true standard. Sorrow 
will come, sickness will come ; terrible death, sooner or 
later must come ; and then what will it profit a man if 
he hath gained the whole world and lost his own soul !" 



Ingratteer-^ Witt of para fjtatart 

"Ingratitude — thou marble-hearted fiend!" 

HOW delightful the ability as well as the dis- 
position to confer favors! What pleasure it 
must afford the rich and the powerful to relieve the 
wants and soothe the sufferings of the poor! The 
recollection of such conduct is calculated to sweeten 
every hour of after existence. What reflections could 
be more felicitous than those caused by having rescued 
some erring child of humanity from a downward 
career — having brightened the hearth of some lonely 
and impoverished widow — having averted the bank- 
ruptcy of some friend — having tendered a loan at the 
moment it was least expected and most desired — 
having appeared as a messenger of generosity and 



INGRATITUDE. 297 

joy ; when to the sufferer, all the world seemed mer- 
cenary and heartless! The "Pleasures of Philan- 
thropy" are yet to be described. But volumes might 
be produced by some competent mind and heart upon 
such a fruitful subject. A few days since, we hap- 
pened to enter the sick chamber of an estimable citizen, 
who had been unable, in consequence of severe illness, 
to attend to his business affairs for some weeks. We 
found his wife overcome by some sudden act of kind- 
ness, and shedding tears of gratitude and joy. We 
inquired the cause, and ascertained that a neighbor 
who had called before, had just paid a visit, and ap- 
prehensive that the pecuniary affairs of the sick man 
might be in some confusion, he had made a generous 
tender of his purse, satisfied, he said, that all would 
be well again in a short time, but anxious to prevent 
distress under any circumstances. The relief was not 
needed, but the act was so full of touching and disin- 
terested kindness, that the wife was quite overcome, 
and showered blessings upon the head of the worthy 
individual referred to. This was indeed true benevo- 
lence, genuine liberality — a golden deed among the 
many hollow and sounding acts of this working-day 
world. It is conduct like this that elevates our race 
— allies the nature of man to that of superior beings. 
And such cases are by no means rare. They seldom 
find their way into the public prints, for the truly 
benevolent are modest and retiring, and shrink from 
all display and ostentation. When they give, they 
do so quietly, satisfied with the consciousness of doing 
good. 

But, alas ! for the weakness and the viciousness of 
human nature. How often does it happen that favors 



298 INGRATITUDE. 

are sources of anxiety rather than of pleasure, because 
of the ingratitude of mankind. How often do they 
convert friends into enemies, make individuals hate 
their benefactors, simply because of that vicious, 
selfish passion of the human heart, which under a 
sense of obligation, begets a feeling of rancor even 
amongst the most intimate friends. Do you not know 
such cases, gentle reader ? Have you not experienced 
this strange perversity ? Can you not call to mind some 
individual, who is indebted to you for a kindness, a 
favor, a loan — and who has grown colder and colder 
from day to day and from year to year, until he is 
now an enemy rather than a friend? Have you not 
also seen cases in which the obligation, at first re- 
garded as kindly and generous in an eminent degree, 
was afterward derided, contemned, and attributed to 
improper motives? What fiend is more marble- 
hearted than Ingratitude? How strange it is, that in- 
dividuals so circumstanced, can revile or assail their 
benefactors ! How dark and deplorable a feature of 
the human heart ! And yet its existence how few will 
deny ! The ungrateful man is indeed a disgrace to 
humanity. He is neither entitled to sympathy nor 
respect. He not only injures himself, but he excites 
distrust as to mankind at large, and checks the hand 
of generosity when about to act in the most liberal 
spirit. But all — thank Heaven — are not so. All do 
not yield to this demon of our evil nature. There 
are many who are grateful for the smallest favors, who 
appreciate and remember acts of kindness and good- 
will till the latest hour of existence. Nothing so de- 
lights them as an opportunity to reciprocate. They 
are never so happy as when acknowledging and re- 



INGRATITUDE. 299 

paying a kindness. They are true to the best impulses 
of generosity and justice, and they love their fellow- 
creatures with a spirit of brotherhood and affection. 
"We have known individuals who years after some 
slight favor had been conferred, and when it was for- 
gotten by the benefactor, return it gladly and eagerly 
a hundred fold. The cup of water given in the right 
spirit to the beggar who knocks at our door, the 
crumb that falls from the table, the alms, however 
trifling — all have their uses and their reward. Let no 
one be deterred from the exercise of charity, because 
in his progress through life he has encountered many 
an instance of black ingratitude. Let not the inno- 
cent suffer for the guilty ! We hold to the faith, that 
no act of humanity, no word of kindness, no smile of 
benevolence, is altogether valueless or lost. We may 
not see the effect to-day. It may escape our observa- 
tion entirely. But it will nevertheless have existence. 
It is our duty at least, to act in a generous, a benevo- 
lent and a Christian spirit, satisfied that the All-seeing 
Mind penetrates far deeper than any human foresight, 
and notes not only every deed, but every thought of 
the great human family. The ungrateful, on the other 
hand, should remember that sooner or later a day of 
retribution will come. Let them beware — and resist 
the first insidious approach of Satanic pride — that 
pride by which the angels fell, and of which Ingrati- 
tude is the eldest born 



ts. 



" But Wisdom, awful Wisdom ! which inspects, 
Discerns, compares, weighs, separates, infers, 
Seizes the right, and holds it to the last, 
How rare!" 



WITH a little reflection, how many errors would 
be avoided, how many difficulties escaped ! 
The rash and hasty are constantly getting into trouble. 
They judge harshly and abruptly, they speak thought- 
lessly and indiscreetly. They form opinions, in many 
cases, without having examined all the facts ; they ex- 
press those opinions to others, and thus do much harm 
and often unintentionally. Indiscretion is a sad error. 
It causes mischief, produces unkind feeling, severs 
many a tie of friendship, and leads to many a path of ruin. 
And yet all are more or less indiscreet. There are few 
who think twice before they speak once, who have a con- 
stant watch upon their passions, their prejudices, their 
minds, their hearts, and their tongues. A few days since, 
a gentleman visited a friend, and in the course of con- 
versation, seized the occasion to contrast the disposi- 
tions of large and small persons, physically speaking. 
He was himself of fine proportions, and while advert- 
ing to some individual who was very diminutive in 
figure, he proceeded to launch forth in a tirade against 
small people generally, said they were waspish, spite- 
ful, proud, mean, conceited, and incapable of cherish- 
(300) 



THE INDISCREET. 301 

ing a generous sentiment or a noble impulse. Nature, 
he said, had dwarfed them, not only in person, but in 
mind and in heart, and he cited several instances by 
way of illustration. But just at that- moment, he 
chanced to turn in another direction, and observed the 
flashing eye and glowing cheek of a lady of very small 
stature who happened to be present ; and seeing his 
awkward and almost unpardonable blunder, he at- 
tempted to stammer out an apology, but he was so 
confused and abashed, that every effort only made the 
the matter worse. 

On another occasion, not long since, an individual, 
who by the way has any thing but aristocratic blood 
in his veins — but who, in consequence of the fortunate 
speculations of his father, has inherited a large estate, 
was indulging in a strain of great pomp and pride, as 
to the high character of his ancestry, and sneering at 
what he called " the mere mechanics and storekeepers 
of the present day.'' His language was addressed to a 
beauty and an heiress ; but one whose position and 
prospects, nevertheless, have not neutralized her com- 
mon sense, nor deadened the innate nobility of her 
heart. She listened, but with evident impatience in 
her manner, and coolly remarked at the close — "I 
presume, sir, that you are aware that my father was a 
mechanic." Had a thunderbolt fallen at the feet of 
the miserable pretender, he could not have been more 
startled. 

But indiscretions of language and remark occur 
every day. There are some people who seldom get 
a story right. They are so impatient or excitable, 
that they do not listen with sufficient attention to gather 
all the facts ; their imaginations are so vivid, or their 



302 THE INDISCREET. 

habit of exaggeration so bad, that the real truth is lost 
sight of in a world of misrepresentation. There are 
others again, whose prejudices are so strong, that they 
color almost every opinion or action of life. Who has 
not formed a hasty judgment of some subject or in- 
dividual, and found, in after years, that they had com- 
mitted a frightful eror? "Who has not drawn a por- 
trait of character upon the mirror of his mind, added 
tint upon tint and shade upon shade, and then dis- 
covered, on becoming really acquainted with the 
original, that the sketch had been made by Prejudice 
and Passion, and not by Candor and Truth. 

We hear much of first impressions — but how often 
are they imperfect and erroneous ! How many men 
have looked upon individuals of the gentler sex, for 
mouths, nay, years, with comparative indifference, and 
at last, on becoming intimate, discovered angelic vir- 
tues, where before they never dreamed of their exist- 
ence. Love at first sight is a very romantic affair, es- 
pecially if it survive the test of time, and of repeated 
observation ; but how much more reliable is the affec- 
tion that is founded upon esteem, knowledge of mental 
and moral worth, acquaintance with the disposition 
and temper — and a consciousness that the object of re- 
gard is not only suited to win passing admiration, but 
to grace and dignify the responsible positions of wife 
and mother. Does it not sometimes happen, that the 
individual who imbibes an impression very rapidly, 
who becomes a lover through the agency of a glance, 
a friend with a grasp of the hand, alters his judgment 
quite as readily, and dislikes with just as much haste 
and rashness? For ourselves, we advocate the calm, 
the thoughtful, the discreet — we are disposed to thinK 



PHYSICIANS AND THEIR RESPONSIBILITIES. 303 

kindly of all men, and to hope for the best ; but we 
are distrustful of that class of human beings ; who are 
every thing by turns and nothing long — who one day 
overflow with eulogies of this distinguished statesman, 
and the next are monomaniacs concerning that — who 
act from impulse, and not from reason — who jump at 
conclusions without examining premises — who to-day 
are prepared to denounce, and to-morrow to applaud 
— whose tastes are as variable as the wind — in short, 
the rash, the indiscreet, the unreflecting, and conse- 
quently the misjudging. 



HOW solemn are the responsibilities of the Physi- 
cian! How arduous are his duties! What 
anxieties must sometimes crowd upon his mind! 
With the life of some loved and cherished being in 
the greatest possible peril, anxious friends and rela- 
tives awaiting his decision, and some fond mother or 
devoted wife ready to burst into an agony of grief at 
an unfavorable opinion ! Perhaps, too, he may have 
a doubt in his own mind as to the exact line of treat- 
ment! Then it is that his responsibilities seem to 
accumulate ten-fold! Then does he consult the best 
authorities, and the ablest among his professional 
brethren, to fortify his own course, or to discover if, 
judging from other cases, there can be said to exist a 
ray of hope for the languishing sufferer. 



30 i PHYSICIANS AND THEIR RESPONSIBILITIES. 

Philadelphia is blessed with many eminent physi- 
cians — men who have devoted their lives to the pro- 
fession, and who still, with gray heads and large 
families around them, are as willing as ever to attend 
the bed-side of the invalid. Our chief Universities 
have long been regarded as among the ablest in the 
world, while we have course upon course of medical 
lectures, accompanied with surgical demonstrations 
by able hands — so that, so far as medical skill and - 
science are concerned, our good city may well be 
selected as the temporary home of the afflicted. 

But the life of a Physician is about the last we 
should choose, if we desired comfort, occasional quiet, 
and an escape from the many vexations of the out- 
door world. Liable to be called up at every hour of 
the night — compelled to pass from one scene of suffer- 
ing to another, and reproached finally, as too often 
occurs, when, after having exhausted his medical skill 
in vain, the patient dies, and the relatives cruelly 
assign false treatment as the cause ! These are some 
of the horrors of the profession. A Surgeon's life, as 
it seems to us, must be still more exceptionable. 
There must be a dreadful responsibility in the mind 
of every man who determines to undertake some criti- 
cal and important operation. "We remember that 
eight or ten years ago, we were quite intimate with 
a young man from the South, who had just graduated 
with signal honor at the University, and who was re- 
garded as possessing the finest talents. Soon after 
our acquaintance fell off in a great measure, in con- 
sequence of the different nature of our pursuits, but 
we ever and anon heard his name mingled with some 
skillful surgical operation, and he now ranks among 



PHYSICIANS AND THEIR RESPONSIBILITIES. 305 

the most eminent. Nevertheless, as we met and con- 
versed with him a few weeks back, we were not a 
little struck with his altered appearance. Intellectual 
and hollow-eyed, he had evidently studied with much 
assiduity, while, as we remembered his gay, free man- 
ner and rosy looks, some ten years before, the impres- 
sion rose to our mind, that he was yielding himself a 
martyr to his profession. 

But we have Physicians of almost every descrip- 
tion in a metropolis like this — from the man who has 
devoted half a century to the acquisition of a knowl- 
edge of the Art, and who still confesses he has yet 
much to learn, to the miserable charlatan who, too 
idle to make an honest livelihood by a respectable 
trade, ventures, as an easier plan, to trifle with the 
lives of his fellow-beings. We are not among those 
who condemn all new remedies and systems, because 
they happen to be new. On the contrary, we believe 
the science of medicine to be as susceptible of im- 
provement as any other. But for a miserable adven- 
turer, without attainments or natural force of mind, 
suddenly to fancy himself endowed with the power of 
curing diseases, and without the slightest knowledge 
of the anatomy of man to set himself up as a Doctor, 
is, it seems to us, little better than a deliberate determi- 
nation to assume the risk of committing wholesale 
murder. And yet the country abounds with such 
impostors. Heaven only knows the extent to which 
they increase the bills of mortality ! 

A good Physician is indeed a great blessing to 
society — a man in whose head and whose heart you 
can feel confidence — one who will never act rashly 
and for mere experiment, but who, understanding 



806 THE PREJUDICED. 






your disease, will arrest its progress as speedily as 
possible, and who, acquainted with your disposition, 
will throw in some apt remark at once calculated to 
soothe, to animate, and to excite hope. We know a 
lady in this city who says that the very voice of her 
physician, listened to a few moments, will relieve an 
ordinary headache ! Eather extravagant, to be sure — 
but she has faith in the heart as well as the head of 
her medical adviser, who is indeed a master of his 
Art. It is quite possible, moreover, that, as many of 
his patients are of the gentler sex, he frequently ac- 
complishes as much by kind words and soothing ex- 
pressions, as by his more formal prescriptions. His 
example in this respect might be followed with ad- 
vantage by others. 



%k f ttJHbbb.-®jje Jallffitg of Jura 
Juflgitrntt 

" Why dost thou show to the apt thoughts of men 
The things that are not?" — Shakspeare. 

BULWEE, in one of the best of his works, con- 
tends that the human mind differs according to 
the difference of place, that in our passions we are the 
mere dependents of geographical situation. " Nay," he 
adds, "the trifling variation of a single mile will revo- 
lutionize the whole tides and torrents of our hearts. 
The man who is meek, generous, benevolent, and 



THE PKEJUDICED. 307 

kind, in the country, enters the scene of contest, and 
becomes forthwith fiery or mean, selfish or stern, 
just as if the virtues were only for solitude, and the 
vices for a city." 

This view is forcible, and is no doubt borne out in 
many cases. Certain it is, that we are all more or less 
the creatures of habit, taste, education, example, and 
prejudice. Our judgments, our manners, our thoughts 
and dispositions are all moulded or modified, to some 
extent, by the lessons inculcated in youth, by the 
society in which we have moved and mingled, by the 
examples more immediately before us. Occasionally 
a strong-minded man, a powerful genius, will break 
away from these circumstances and associations, and 
carve out a path and a character for himself. He 
will see the error and delusion by which he has been 
surrounded, distinguish between the false and the true, 
and act accordingly. But these cases are rare. We 
are so essentially fashioned and moulded by education, 
habit and example, that although in after life we may 
discover that much of the system under which we 
were trained was erroneous, we find it extremely diffi- 
cult to divest our minds of its influence. How true 
is this in religious matters ! The Mohammedan is the 
victim of the delusions of his race, his nation, and his 
faith. So with many of the Pagans and barbarians 
of the world, who have been taught to believe that 
scenes the most outrageous and sanguinary, are not 
only excusable, but virtuous and commendable. But 
even in civilized nations — among the wise, the good, 
and the benevolent — how fearful sometimes is the 
reign of prejudice. How often do we see deeds of 
bigotry and crime committed, and all, too, under an 
19 



308 THE PREJUDICED. 

impression that such a course is acceptable in the eyes 
of Heaven. The fanatics, the enthusiasts, the madmen 
of the hour, who, in disseminating their own peculiar 
doctrines, seldom fail to trample on the rights of . 
others, and 1 to violate many of the simple, sublime, 
and godlike precepts of the Christian religion — who 
forget or disregard the duty of doing unto others as 
they would they should do unto them, nevertheless, 
so utterly are they blinded by passion and prejudice, 
believe themselves models of purity, sacred zeal and 
benevolent forbearance. They are bewildered for a 
time, their minds are clouded and darkened by pre- 
judice, their hearts are excited and infuriate, and 
thus, even while they deceive themselves into a belief 
that their conduct is all that it should be, they are 
violating the simplest duties of humanity. " In form- 
ing a judgment," says Sir Philip Sidney, "lay your 
hearts void of foretaken opinions ; else, whatsoever is 
done or said, will be measured by a wrong rule, like 
them who have the jaundice, to whom every thing 
appeareth yellow." 

In the language of another distinguished writer, 
" the most necessary talent in the man of conversation, 
is a good judgment. He that has this in perfection, is 
master of his companion, without letting him see it ; 
and has the same advantage over men of any other 
qualifications whatsoever, as one that can see, would 
have over a blind man of ten times his strength." 

A clear, mental vision, a calm yet enlightened 
mind, a just and benevolent understanding, these are 
indeed high characteristics, priceless blessings. How 
few possess them ! How few are divested of prejudice ! 
How few can discuss even ordinary topics, without 



THE PREJUDICED. 609 

permitting selfish, and one-sided feelings to interfere, 
without allowing the errors of education, the force of 
bad example, the power of self-interest, to exercise an 
unworthy control! "It is with our judgments as our 
watches," says Pope ; " none go just alike, yet each 
believes his own." 

Even in small matters, every-day affairs, the little 
courtesies and civilities of life, the warped and clouded 
aspect of prejudice is often distinctly visible. Few 
can converse ten minutes, and upon any subject, with- 
out indulging to some extent in this weakness and 
vice. Our likes and dislikes are certain to manifest 
themselves. Sometimes, too, we imbibe an antipathy 
against an individual, on grounds wholly untenable. 
We know nothing of his or her character really and 
positively, and yet either through an error of our 
own, or the misrepresentation of another, we form an 
estimate and paint a portrait in our own mind, any thing 
but correct. This will sometimes exist for years ; and 
we will speak and act again and again, under the in- 
fluence of this prejudice, and in most cases with rank 
injustice. There are few, indeed, who have not their 
peculiar prejudices, who have not imbibed a distaste 
to this or that individual, and without the slightest 
cause, the least j ustifi able reason. 

"The prejudiced," says Barrow, "are apt to con- 
verse with but one sort of men, to read but one sort 
of booKs, to come in hearing of but one sort of 
notions ; the truth is, they canton out to themselves a 
little Goshen in the intellectual world, where light 
shines, and as they conclude, day blesses them ; but 
the rest of the vast expansum they give up to night 

and darkness, and so avoid coming near it." It often 
19 



310 THE TEMPER AND THE TONGUE, 

happens that there is the broadest contrast in the 
personal appearance of an individual and his real 
character. The external may be forbidding and re- 
pulsive, and yet the heart may teem with the noblest 
sympathies, the kindliest virtues. Therefore, we should 
at least endeavor to think well of our fellow-creatures, 
until we have cause for an unfavorable opinion. We 
should strive to avoid foolish and unfounded pre- 
judices, always remembering that in matters of opinion, 
taste and judgment, we are quite as fallible as the rest 
of the world, and just as likely to be in error. 



%\t Cemptr atto ijjt Congut. 

"Give me the heart that fain would hide- 
Would fain another's fault efface ; 

How can it pleasure human pride 
To prove humanity hut base ? 

No: let us reach a higher mood, 
A nobler estimate of man ; 

Be earnest in the search for good, 
And speak of all the best we can." 

WE some time since ventured to offer a word of 
reproof in relation to the habit of speaking 
harshly, hastily, or without due reflection. The evil 
is so common, and is often attended with such painful 
consequences, that we will be excused for referring to 
it again. It may be said to form one of the most 
serious annoyances of social life. And when a family 
or a circle is troubled with an individual who is 
afflicted with the infirmity alluded to, who is in the 



THE TEMPER AND THE TONGUE. 311 

habit, either from rashness, thoughtlessness, or bitter- 
ness of disposition, of making unkind, unfeeling, or 
violent remarks, the vice at times becomes almost in- 
sufferable. Hearts are wounded, the sensitive are ex- 
cited and stung, old griefs are revived, frailties are 
subjected to an improper scrutiny, and thus pain is 
caused in various ways. Individuals have no right, 
even under the plea of frankness and candor, to make 
use of harsh and irritating language, to allude to sub- 
jects of a delicate or unpleasant nature, to revive the 
recollection of errors repented, or even to reproach, in 
a bitter and vindictive spirit, the exhibition of exist- 
ing frailties. Some persons, too, are in the habit of 
getting into an undue excitement on public and pri- 
vate questions, and while in this state, of denouncing 
the objects of their passion with a degree of malevo- 
lence and rancor so strong as to be quite painful to 
the listeners. A friend informs us that a case of this 
kind occurred a few days since in an omnibus. The 
vehicle was pretty well crowded with ladies and gen- 
tlemen, when a somewhat exciting subject became the 
theme of conversation between two of the latter. They 
talked coolly enough for a little while, but soon the 
temper of one of the parties was roused, his language 
became stronger and stronger, his manner, voice, and 
the expression of his countenance, changed with his 
words, and he poured forth a torrent of invective so 
bitter and burning, that the other passengers were not 
only astonished but sadly annoyed; and all tuned 
upon each other looks of congratulation when the 
hot-tempered individual pulled the string that check«d 
the vehicle and took his departure. His manner wa3 
most unpleasant. The same sentiments might havs* 



812 THE TEMPER AND THE TONGUE. 

been expressed with far more emphasis and effect, in 
a calmer, milder, and yet in a sufficiently decided 
spirit. Bat the impression made was, that the ex- 
citable one possessed a very unhappy and tyrannical 
temper, and that the less the lovers of peace, quiet, 
and courtesy had to do with him the better. 

But there is another description of rashness of 
speech that deserves to be noticed and rebuked. A 
gentleman informs us that, a year or two ago, he at- 
tended quite a brilliant party in a neighboring city. 
in the course of the evening he was conversing with 
an estimable friend, when a somewhat flippant ac- 
quaintance came up, and pointing to a lady on the 
opposite side of the room, exclaimed, in a half whis- 
per, but sufficiently loud to be heard by the three, 
"Who is that frightfully ugly female talking to 
Mrs. ?" 

"That," replied the interrogated, at once pained, 
mortified, and confused, "is the wife of my friend 
Mr. B." — and he immediately bowed to the gentleman 
with whom he had been conversing. Fortunately 
Mr. B. was a man of good sense and manageable tem- 
per, and was thus able to appreciate insolence and 
puppyism at their true value. The imprudent and 
impertinent youth stammered out an apology, but he 
was evidently so abashed and overwhelmed by his 
blunder, that he scarcely knew what he was saying. 
The incident afforded him a lesson, however, and for 
a time, at least, the effect was salutary. The true 
doctrine, in all matters of conversation, is beautifully 
expressed by a clever poet of the present day : 

" Nay, speak no ill — a kindly word 
Can never leave a sting behind, ' 



THE TEMPER AND THE TONGUE. 313 

And oh ! to breathe each tale we've heard 

Is far beneath a noble mind. 
Full oft a better seed is sown 

By choosing thus the kinder plan; 
For if but little good be known, 

Still let us speak the best we can." 

This rule is plain and simple. If we cannot speak 
well and favorably of an acquaintance or friend, let us 
remain silent. If we cannot say something calculated 
to cheer, gladden, and delight, let us at least not pur- 
sue a contrary course. Our duty is to afford as much 
pleasure, and to produce as much good, as we can in 
the world, and if our means with reference to these 
subjects be limited, we should at least endeavor to re- 
strain the evil propensities of our nature, to curb and 
control the demons of scandal, jealousy, ill-will, and 
all uncharitableness. We all have infirmities and fail- 
ings enough. We all require the exercise of generosity 
and forbearance. Our imperfections, although invisible 
to ourselves, may be quite glaring to others. When, 
therefore, we indulge a spirit of generous and charita- 
ble forbearance in relation to the errors of the rest of 
the world, we in some degree at least entitle ourselves 
to a similar judgment with reference to our own. 
Nothing is ever lost by kindness and charity. No 
heart is pained, no sensibility is wounded, by words 
of courtesy, benevolence, and good breeding ; while a 
rash word, a violent expression, a hasty or an unhappy 
remark, may inflict a keen pang — may cause a wound 
that will fester and rankle for years. 

"Then speak no ill, but lenient be 

To others' failings as your own. 
If you're the first a fault to see, 

Be not the first to make it known ; 
For life is but a passing day — 

No lip may tell how brief its span. 
Then oh I the little time we stay, 

Let's speak of all the best we can." 



" The candid spirit is lighter than a linnet's heart." 

IN the beautiful language of an eminent writer, 
" when once a concealment or deceit has been prac- 
ticed in matters where all should be fair and open as 
the day — confidence can never be restored, no more 
than you can restore the white bloom to the grape or 
to the plum which you have once pressed in your hand." 
How true is this ; and yet what a neglected truth by a 
great portion of mankind. Falsehood is not only one 
of the meanest and most humiliating of vices, but, 
sooner or later, it is almost certain to lead to many 
serious crimes. With partners in trade — with part- 
ners for life — with friends — with lovers, how import- 
ant is confidence. How essential that all guile and 
hypocrisy should be guarded against, in the intercourse 
between such parties. — How much misery would be 
avoided in the history of many lives, had truth and 
sincerity been the guiding and controling motives in- 
stead of prevarication and deceit. " Any vice," said a 
parent, in our hearing, a few days since, " any vice, at 
least among the frailties of a milder character, but 
falsehood. Far better that my child should commit 
an error or do a wrong and confess it, than escape the 
penalty, however severe, by falsehood and hypocrisy. 
Let me know the worst, and a remedy may possibly 
be applied. But keep me in the dark — let me be mis- 
led or deceived, and it is impossible to tell at what un 
(314) 



PERILS OF FALSEHOOD. 315 

prepared hour a crushing blow — an overwhelming ex- 
posure may come." 

Falsehood is the mask by which many other errors 
may be and are concealed. It may, moreover, make 
vice for a time appear as virtue, and thus betray the 
innocent and unsuspecting. Conversing a few days 
since with a friend, we detailed a statement of a some- 
what remarkable character, and at the same time men- 
tioned our author. Upon this our friend burst into a 
hearty laugh, and treated the whole story as a weak 
invention, or at least a wild exaggeration. "For," 
said he, " your informant is a noted falsifier. Every 
thing he says must be received with considerable al- 
lowance." And then he went on to cite several cases 
in which he had been deceived in a like manner. 
" But," he continued, " having discovered the propen- 
sity of ' to fib, I govern my actions accordingly 

with regard to his stories." What a lamentable in- 
stance of the folly and madness of falsehood! And 
yet this instance is by no means rare, neither is the 
vice peculiar to the rougher sex. Alas ! it is too pre- 
valent everywhere. The disposition to boast, exult, 
and make a display, is one that in many cases induces 
falsehood. Who cannot single out some male or fe- 
male friend, with whom the habit has become almost 
incurable, of describing his or her adventures in a 
strain of the highest exaggeration, of boasting of friends 
and associates, the style in which such friends live, the 
extent of their means, the parties they give, and other 
similar matters, under a belief that such statements are 
calculated to add to the importance of the person who 
makes them ! This is indeed a petty spirit of untruth, 
and although comparatively harmless, and indulged 



SI 6 PERILS OF FALSEHOOD. 

merely for the gratification of a foolish pride or a mor- 
bid vanity, it is certain to destroy confidence and to sap 
character. 

How forcible is the contrast between an individual 
who is noted for candor and truth, and one notorious 
for qualities exactly the reverse. In the first case, full 
reliance is placed upon every statement that is made 
— and in the last, every thing is listened to with doubt 
and incredulity. In one, the character is brightened 
by- the lustre of a heaven-born principle — and in the 
other, it is darkened by a frailty — a vice of the most 
deplorable description. " Truth," says Locke, " whether 
in or out of fashion, is the measure of knowledge and 
the business of the understanding ; whatsoever is be- 
yond that, however authorized by consent, or recom- 
mended by rarity, is nothing but ignorance, or some- 
thing worse." 

Between man and wife, a system of concealment, 
prevarication and falsehood, is not only culpable and 
wicked, but it must sooner or later lead to the destruc- 
tion of every thing like confidence — of all harmony of 
feeling — of esteem, respect, and affection. Alas ! for 
that condition of existence which is made up of daily 
and hourly illustrations of deceit and treachery — alas, 
for the miserable beings who are bound together for 
life, and who, nevertheless, cannot bare their hearts to 
each other, cannot look into each other's faces with 
frankness and confidence — who, in brief, are in the 
daily utterance and practice of falsehood. They 
are in constant bondage to guile, and the galley-slave 
chained to his oar, must be happy in comparison. 
Avoid then, gentle reader — avoid as you would some 
deadly poison, every thing like falsehood or deceit 



THE UNSATISFIED. 817 

toward the objects of jour friendship or affection, 
for although the deception may succeed for months 
or even years, detection will inevitably come, and the 
betrayed and indignant victim will turn with jealous 
horror upon the past, and the fatal policy, even if for- 
given, will never be forgotten. 



€k WsaMk 



"That man who to the utmost of his power augments the great mass of public 
or individual happiness, will, under every institution, and in spite of all opposi- 
tion, be the happiest of all men himself." — Rochefoucault. 



A SOUND sentiment, but how neglected — how 
disregarded! It is curious to look through 
society, and see how few, even among the wealthy, 
believe they have enough and are satisfied. The de- 
sire is for more — still more. Even many who have 
incomes of thousands per annum, and are tottering 
upon the verge of the grave, still take a deep interest 
in pecuniary matters, and are as eager for gain as when 
they were first ascending the hill to competence and 
affluence. They can calculate calmly and coolly 
every thing but the chances of human existence and 
future destiny. And yet some of their money specu- 
lations extend far beyond the grave, all the probabili- 
ties considered. They toil on as if destined to live 
forever, and are not a whit more humane and liberal 
at the age of threescore, and with hundreds of thou- 
sands at their disposal, than thirty or forty years be- 



813 THE UNSATISFIED. 

fore, when they were in comparative want. If they 
were to sit down and make a fair estimate, they would 
find it difficult to expend their incomes. And yet 
they are unwilling to distribute the surplus for the 
benefit of the wretched and the needy, for the promo- 
tion of their own happiness here, and the advantage 
of their hopes of bliss hereafter. And this, too, not- 
withstanding, in the language of an energetic writer, 
" every man's absolute obligations and duties increase 
in proportion to his wisdom, power, and wealth ; and 
all omissions in expressions of benevolence, are as 
criminal and injurious to the world as fraud, theft, or 
any other villainy." 

It appears difficult to ascertain when one has 
enough. The philosophy of being satisfied is hard to 
learn and to practice. More — still more! This is 
the desire of the human heart. The richer we grow, 
the more avaricious we become. At least, this is the 
case with too many. We cannot regulate our desires, 
cannot control our passion for wealth. Every want 
may be supplied in moderation — we may be perfectly 
independent, nay, rich — but how difficult is it to ex- 
ercise the calm and self- restraining virtue of content- 
ment 1 If in early life we start in the world with 
narrow means, we fancy that on arriving at a certain 
point we shall be satisfied. Let us (so we argue) ac- 
cumulate a few thousands, and we shall be perfectly 
happy. Nay, we promise that under such circum- 
stances, the poor shall never need a friend, the beggar 
shall never be turned away from our doors. But 
with money how often comes hardness of heart ! How 
often do we lose the virtue of humility, our sympathy 
with humanity, and our sense of dependence upon 



THE UNSATISFIED. 319 

Providence ! Even if particularly fortunate, how apt 
are we to attribute success to our own merits and 
energy — nay, and to turn upon others, who, perhaps, 
with far more industry and toil, have nevertheless 
gone behind hand, with looks and words of reproach 
and contempt ! How rare are the instances of indi- 
viduals with large means who are satisfied, and seek 
for no further accumulations — who, grateful for their 
prosperity, live generously in the true sense of the 
phrase — and, while they provide with abundance for 
their own families, also contribute in a liberal spirit 
to the many charities of the day ! And wealth too — 
how it is worshiped! How the multitude bow and 
cringe before it, and turn aside with indifference from 
the virtuous poor, who by necessity are clothed in 
rags! How few discriminate on grounds of merit 
alone — regard the soul, the spirit, the conduct, the 
character, without reference to externals or mere 
worldly position ! It is this course that strengthens 
the general desire to become rich. Our system, our 
society, the way of the world, induce the young, when 
setting out in life, to believe that wealth is the great 
object of existence — that without it life has few charms 
— and hence, the aim is, to get money, to become 
possessed of the means of power and position, and the 
source of adulation. If it were possible for men, even 
when they accumulate enough and to spare, to be 
satisfied, to realize the philosophy of moderation, to 
act in a liberal and benevolent spirit with reference to 
the unfortunate and needy, how many would be bene- 
fited — how the drooping would be cheered, the down- 
cast raised up, and the faltering take hope and cour- 
age ! If only one-half the citizens of this community 



320 THE RESCUED FROM CRIME. 

who have surplus incomes of thousands per annum, 
and who cannot, in the course of human events and 
human probabilities, ever be reduced to want, would 
apply this surplus to the benefit of the really merito- 
rious though suffering and needy, what happy results 
would ensue! If we could only be satisfied — if we 
could only be moderate in our wants and wishes, and 
act accordingly — how diffusive and widely-spread 
would be the blessings to society at large ! 



§ta;ateir ixm Crim— lenses of Jkfagt. 



" The saved are there, who would have been the lost." 

WE were never more forcibly reminded of the 
benevolence of the spirit which prompted the 
.establishment of Houses of Kefuge, or asylums for 
the rescue and reformation of youthful offenders, than 
on a recent occasion, while perusing a glowing and 
heart-fraught passage in " The Child of the Islands," 
a charming and truly touching poem, by Mrs. Norton. 
Throughout the production, a deep and lively sym- 
pathy for the poor is apparent, and the reader cannot, 
no matter what opinions he may have previously en- 
tertained of the author, but be grateful for her stirring 
appeals in behalf of the wretched, the outcast, and the 
forsaken. If, in the language of Holy Writ, there be 
" more joy in Heaven over one sinner that repenteth, 
than over ninety and nine just persons," how truly 






THE RESCUED FROM CRIME. 32 1 

felicitous must be the reflections and consolations of 
those of our fellow-citizens who dedicate a large por- 
tion of their time and their means to the regeneration 
of the friendless and the poor — to the withdrawal from 
the paths of vice and the temptations of guilt, of the 
young, the inexperienced, the parentless, and even the 
erring ! In this view, Houses of .Refuge, retreats from 
the world, where the youthful offender may be taught 
the error of his ways, the downward and desolating 
tendency of crime and ruin here, and the fearful con- 
sequences hereafter, are calculated to prove productive 
of infinite good. Doubtless, the managers, patrons, 
and others directly concerned in these works of true 
charity, have, in the history of cases that pass imme- 
diately under their observation, much cause to stimu- 
late them to renewed efforts, much to render them 
grateful to Divine Providence. Ever and anon they 
must see in society, or hear from distant points of the 
Union, of individuals, formerly tenants for a season 
of the Refuge, fully restored to the paths of virtue, 
integrity, and well-doing, and discharging their obli- 
gations with propriety and fidelity, as sons, daughters, 
husbands, wives, upright and honorable members of 
society. Cases of this kind are, we have reason to 
know, by no means rare. Nay, we could point out 
instances in which lads, who, in their early career, had 
been abandoned to the most pernicious habits, have, 
through the agency of the Refuge, and its regenerating 
influences, not only gone into the world fully restored 
to correct views of life and its duties, but have sub- 
sequently attained posts of honor and distinction in 
the land. 

One instance of this kind is suited to compensate 



322 THE RESCUED FROM CRIME. 

for hundreds of disappointments. The restoration of 
a single human being to integrity and usefulness, who 
but for such an institution would, in all probability, 
have degenerated from day to day and }^ear to year, 
until the Alms House or the Penitentiary became his 
final place of abode, is a reward well calculated to 
gladden the heart of every true-minded philanthropist. 
But we repeat — illustrations of this kind are not rare. 
Hundreds have been saved who would have been lost, 
but for the happy operations of these institutions. 
So, too, with many other charities of a kindred char- 
acter. Benevolence and Mercy are frequently doomed 
to disappointment. The heart is sometimes too vicious, 
the habits too fixed to be moved and influenced by 
efforts of kindness the most disinterested and perse- 
vering. But in the aggregate, how many are saved ! 
What a vast amount of good is accomplished ! The 
influence, too, of charity is in a certain sense all-per- 
vading. Others, seeing the happy results in this case 
or that, are induced also to contribute their mite. 
Even the narrative of a case of reform, of a vicious 
child converted into a virtuous man, of a profligate 
son restored and rendered grateful and filial, will fre- 
quently touch a heart which had before seemed obdu- 
rate, and call forth sympathies and humanities that 
before were cold and torpid. We say, then, to phi- 
lanthropists of every class, your efforts are not and can- 
not be lost. Although good fruit may not appear to- 
day, still persevere and hope on, and cheering results 
will be realized to-morrow, this year or next, or per- 
haps when the spirit that prompted the generous work 
has soared to a brighter and a better world. The 
very poem by Mrs. Norton, to which we have alluded^ 



THE RESCUED FROM CRIME. 323 

is calculated to exercise a salutary influence. It will 
be read with satisfaction by all who for years have 
sympathized with the juvenile delinquents of our own 
or other countries, and have endeavored to render 
their sympathy active and efficient, by measures of 
remedy and . reform. It may also touch the heart of 
some affluent citizen who, turning back to the period 
of his childhood, remembers the shoals and quick- 
sands of vice by which he was surrounded, and also 
remembers the counsel and assistance of some chari- 
table individual, who warned him from the wrong, 
and directed his footsteps aright. What, indeed, 
could be more eloquent or more appropriate than 
language like this : 

" A mournful memory in my bosom stirs ! 

A recollection of the lovely isle, 
Where, in the purple shadow of thy firs, 

Parkhurst ! and gloomy in the summer smile. 

Stands the child's prison, (since we must defile 
So blest a refuge with so curs'd a name,) 

The home of those whose former home was vile, 
Who, dogged, sullen, scoffing, hither came, 
Tender in growth and years, but long confirmed in shame. 

The saved are there, who would have been the lost ; 

The checked in crime, who might have been the doomed ; 
The wild-brier buds, whose tangled path was crost 

By nightshade poison trailing where they bloomed f 

The wrecked, round whom the threatening surges boomed, 
Borne in this life-boat far from peril's stress ; 

The sheltered, o'er whose heads the thunder loomed; 
Convicts (convicted of much helplessness) ; * 
Exiles, whom Mercy guides through Guilt's dark wilderness." 



Jrttntsm— § m% |)rik, info ijmr f! enaltg. 

" Of the two classes of people, I hardly know which is to be regarded with the 
most distaste — the vulgar aping the genteel — or the genteel constantly sneering at 
and endeavoring to distinguish themselves from the vulgar." — Eazlitt. 

m 

HOW vast a sum is annually sacrificed to vanity, 
pride, and a desire to attract the eyes and excite „ 
the jealousy of the world. The great multitude in a 
city like this, in society constituted as ours, seek not 
so much to enjoy themselves wisely and in moderation, 
with the means at their disposal, as to live as others 
do, to make as imposing a show, as great a display as 
their neighbors, or if possible, to go beyond them. 
The question is not — Is this right, proper and be- 
coming ? Does it correspond with our circumstances 
and prospects ? — but, What will Mr. this — or Mr. that 
think? What will be said by our rival on the other 
side of the way, or by the pompous and conceited 
person who is in the habit of looking with real or 
assumed disdain upon all around him ? And thus, 
daily, and hourly, worldly comforts are squandered, 
savings are expended, toil is rendered more and more 
indispensable; and as we descend the hill-side of life, 
we find we are less and less qualified to struggle and 
wrestle against the vicissitudes of the world. We 
sacrifice not onhv present content and real enjoyment, 
but the means by which we might become inde- 
pendent, to a certain extent at least, and through 
which the closing hours of life might be brightened 
(324) 



PRETENSION. 325 

and sweetened. One half of the world live not for 
themselves, and in conformity with their own tastes 
and convictions ; but because they suppose that their 
movements are regarded with unusual scrutiny by 
their neighbors, and because pride and vanity prompt 
them to make a better appearance than their circum- 
stances in reality authorize. Again ; how frequently 
do we see cases of individuals who have been fortu- 
nate, who have been elevated from comparative 
poverty and obscurity, anxious to forget their origin, 
early fortunes and associations, and by extraordinary 
display and profuse expenditure, to make it appear 
to the world, that they are something quite superior 
in birth, in family, in position and in affluence — that 
they, in short, are the porcelain of society, while the 
rest of mankind are merely common crockery. A 
few may be thus deceived, and may look up to the 
pretenders with vacant wonder and ignorant admira- 
tion. But the many who can penetrate through the 
shallow veil in which vanity and pride attempt to 
disguise themselves, look on calmly, philosophically, 
and instead of being dazzled and excited, merely pity 
and contemn the poor fools who thus waste their sub- 
stance in idle and unmeaning display. The folly to 
which we have referred, is confined almost exclusively 
to the mushrooms of the hour, the creatures of the 
day, who fancy that money is character, that display 
is gentility, that notoriety is reputation. In nothing- 
is a vulgar mind and a low taste more clearly mani- 
fested than in such demonstrations. The educated, 
the polished, and the refined, no matter how affluent, 
are easy, graceful, unpretending and courteous. True 
elegance they regard as consisting in pure simplicity. 
20 



826 PKETENSIOX. 

They despise affectation as an infallible indication of 
ignorance. The mere vanity of dress and of ostenta- 
tion, are viewed with just contempt, and while they 
are careful to preserve the elements of neatness and 
taste in all that concerns them, they regard it as one 
of the essential requisites of true refinement, to be as 
unaffected, as unpretending, as mild and affable to all 
within their circle as possible. 

There are hundreds at this moment in Philadelphia, 
who prefer living in a fine house, and dressing in 
fashionable style, to the indulgence of even the ordi- 
nary comforts of life, and the proper education of their 
children. They expend a considerable sura every 
year, but they do so with a false judgment ; and in 
their aim to appear better than they really are — or 
wealthier, we should rather say — they sow the seeds 
of their own ruin. How many, too, when they find 
the world going wrong with them, when they discover 
that their expenses have been greater than their gains, 
hesitate to retrench, refuse to remove into smaller 
apartments, neglect to adopt a system of economy; 
and all from an apprehension that the world, the cold, 
heartless, and scandal-loving world, will point the 
finger of ridicule, or allude to the change with a shrug 
of mock commiseration. They know their duty, they 
see the ruin before them ; and yet they lack the moral 
nerve to act as their judgments dictate, lest such 
and such an opinion should be uttered by this friend 
or that neighbor ; lest the world should be able to 
recognize and speak of the adverse change. Pride 
and vanity whisper, too, that affairs are not so bad, 
that the prospect is not so gloomy, that some fortunate 
turn will soon take place ; and thus the poor victim 



PRETENSION. 327 

is led on from day to day, until all is lost, and lie finds 
it impossible, even by economy, to recover the ground 
or opportunity that he saw passing from beneath his 
feet, or eluding his grasp. Alas ! for the victims of 
vanity and pride. They are to be met in every street 
and at every corner, in all classes and conditions of 
society. Some are ruined who worship dress — others 
who are fond of gay society — others who aim to make 
a noise in the world — and others again who desire to 
be looked up to as something superior — something 
beyond the ranks of the common crowd. The feeling 
which prompts their conduct is not only selfish, but 
it is sinful ; and thus when they fall, there are few who 
sympathize with their fate. Pride induces them to 
strive to excite the envy of those around them, and in 
the fancied success of their efforts they are happy. 
They rejoice and are pleased, because others believe 
them possessed of superior advantages of position and 
wealth; and in this selfish feeling is their highest 
bliss. But, we repeat, the penalty too often is ruin, 
and the very necessity which induces them to retrace 
their steps, to throw by the pomp and glitter in which 
for a time they surrounded themselves, is, perhaps, 
the bitterest cup of retribution that could be placed to 
their lips. Moderation is a great virtue, and one that 
is too little practiced by the inflated of the hour. 






T"TTB sometimes liear individuals, when in a state 
H of excitement, and indeed occasionally when 
calm and cool, avow a determination never to forgive 
an offence or an insult on the part of another. This 
disposition, so bitter and relentless, is not only anti- 
Christian, but it is impolitic and unreasonable. If we 
were to submit ourselves to the same severe standard 
— if we were to have treasured up against us, never to 
be cancelled or blotted from the record, all our errors 
and misdoings, the future would present a sad and 
gloomy prospect indeed. We are all more or less 
liable to temptation — the temptations of feeling, of 
passion, of prejudice, of ambition, and of interest. 
And if, having yielded in any one case, the door of 
penitence and forgiveness should be closed against 
us, our lot would be embittered through life. Many, 
very many, says an eminent writer, " fall before some 
overpowering temptation, not only in youth but in 
mature years. But God forbid that either the one or 
the other should shut us out from all return. It is 
only against the man who willfully and deliberately 
chooses the wrong course, as that which he is deter- 
mined to follow, that the door can be said to be closed. 
For every other there is always an opportunity of re- 
treading his steps— of abandoning evil, and seeking 
right." 

This is liberal, benevolent, and humane doctrine. 
(328) 



THE UNFORGIVING. o29 

No one can tell the inducements and vicissitudes by 
which another has bee* surrounded — the struggle of 
mind, the conflict of heart, the excitement, the mad- 
ness and the despair, at the time of having departec 5 
from vhe right path and followed the wrong. Wc 
have known instances in which individuals have 
trembled with dismay after the commission of some 
act of guilt ; have been perfectly appalled at the enor- 
mity of the offence, overwhelmed with shame and 
confusion, and puzzled and confounded as to the in- 
fatuation that could so have overcome them. Under 
all such circumstances, the erring should, by gentle 
and generous means, be won back to well doing. 
They see the false step they have taken, and they 
would gladly retrace the path. But the world too 
often joins in the shout of reproach and indignation, 
exults over the fall of another human being, and hur- 
ries on the poor wretch who has committed the error 
to some more desperate act of darkness and despair. 
There is no angel voice to whisper consolation, to 
urge penitence, to utter sympathy and forgiveness. 
And yet mercy is one of the noblest attributes of our 
nature. The man who can look with a lenient eye 
upon the errors of his fellow-creatures ; who, seeing 
they have done wrong, is willing to make allowances, 
and to urge them to return again to the paths of recti- 
tude and of duty, is indeed a Christian in the true, the 
real, the ennobling sense. Would that this disposition 
were more general; would that greater efforts were 
made to win the erring from their first misdeeds, to 
forgive them for the past, and cheer them on to better 
conduct for the future. 

When, however, the guilty, by sudden temptation 



830 THE UNFOEGIVING. 

by penury, passion, or despair, find themselves not 
only denounced and abandoned, but hunted and per- 
secuted, the heart shrinks and changes within them. 
The better qualities of their nature are embittered, 
their faith in humanity is weakened or lost, and they 
rush on wildly and blindly in a dark career of guilt 
and all its fearful consequences. Who has not com- 
mitted error? Who has not strayed away from high 
principle, unwavering rectitude, and the lofty standard 
of perfection ? And yet who would not revolt at the 
idea of having the door of forgiveness closed against 
him — of being doomed to suffer, no matter how deep 
his contrition, or how severe his penalty of regret, re- 
morse, and punishment? A penitent should ever be 
welcomed again to the fold of virtue. If, in the first 
place, he found himself unable to resist the temptations 
of his position in the world, if despite his convictions 
to the contrary, he nevertheless went astray and kept 
astray for years, the effort by which he at last re- 
covered himself, and asserted the supremacy of the 
moral and the right over the immoral and wrong, 
must have been a vigorous and a noble one. He de- 
serves credit therefor ; and, if sincere, should not only 
be taken by the hand freely and willingly, but the 
darkness of his past character should be blotted for- 
ever from the memory. We should forget, if possible, 
and assuredly we should forgive. We should act 
toward others here, in humble imitation of the spirit 
that our faith teaches us to hope from the justice and 
the mercy of the Great Judge hereafter. How beauti- 
fully is this idea conveyed by Tupper : 

" To forget ? It is hard for a man with a mind, 
However his heart may forgive, 
To hlot out all perils and dangers behind, 
And but for the future to live. 



THE PEEILS OF EXCITEMENT. 331 

Then how shall it be ? for at every turn 

Recollection the spirit will fret, 
And the ashes of injury smolder and burn, 

Though we strive to forgive and forget. 

Oh, hearken ! my tongue shall the riddle unseal, 

And mind shall be partner with heart, 
While to thyself I bid conscience reveal, 

And show thee how evil thou art. 
Eemember thy follies, thy sins, and— thy crimes ; 

How vast is that infinite debt ! 
Yet Mercy hath seven by seventy times 

Been swift to forgive and forget ! 

Brood not on insults or injuries old, 

For thou art injurious too — 
Count not their sum till the total is told, 

For thou art unkind and untrue ; 
And if all thy harms are forgotten, forgiven, 

Now Mercy with Justice is met, 
Oh, who would not gladly take lessons of Heaven, 

And learn to forgive and forget 1 

Tes, yes, let a man, when his enemy weeps, 

Be quick to receive him a friend ; 
For thus on his head in kindness he heaps 

Hot coals, — to refine and amend ! 
And hearts that are Christian more eagerly yeara' 

As a nurse on her innocent pet, 
Over lips that, once bitter, to penitence turn, 

And whisper, • Forgive and forget.' " 



%\t perils of (ktkwti,-Mi-€wki. 

" For I have often seen the noble, erring spirit 
Wrecked on the shoals of passion, and numbered of the lost." 



THE people of this country are not, generally speak- 
ing, so excitable as those of many other sections 
of the globe ; and yet our history proves that we have 
a very considerable portion of inflammable material in 
our composition ; and that reason does not in all cases 



332 THE PERILS OF EXCITEMENT. 






control our individual movements and popular demon- 
strations. The perils of excitement are great. Crime 
chooses the hours of passion for the commission of 
her darkest, her bloodiest deeds; and thus, on visit- 
ing our penitentiaries and questioning the wretched 
inmates there confined, we shall find that four-fifths of 
them were monomaniacs at the time they violated the 
laws. They labored under some species of momentary 
insanity, were mad with the excitement of jealousy, 
revenge, or some other fearful emotion of the human 
heart. There are few cool and deliberate villains in 
the world, or few, at least, who commit great offences 
when perfectly self-possessed, calm and collected. Cer- 
tainly, in the early career of most criminals, they be- 
come guilty, and violate the laws while laboring under 
temporary mental derangement, as the victims of in- 
temperance, while mad from passion, or drunk with 
excitement. Indeed, there are few who do not at times 
lose the reins of self-control — and yield to the angry 
and discordant demons within, — who do not forget 
themselves for a brief season, to the shame and morti- 
fication of their after hours of quiet and reflection. For 
ourselves, we plead guilty. How is it with you, 
gentle reader? As with individuals, so with nations. 
What a frightful commentary upon the horrors of 
national excitement, perverted and misdirected, is pre- 
sented in the sanguinary records of the French Kevo- 
lution. But history abounds with fearful illustrations 
in murders, massacres, unholy wars, and in the bloody 
doings of bigotry and intolerance. Excitement, indeed, 
is contagious. How little a thing, even in a city like 
this, will sometimes gather a crowd together, lead to 
angry contention, ill-will, and even blows ! The form 



THE PERILS OF EXCITEMENT. 333 

too — the features, the outward man, how these are in 
many cases moulded or modified by the nature within ! 

"The like iu frame and feature hath much alike iu spirit ; 

3uch a shape hath such a soul, so that a deep discerner 

From his make will read the mau, and err not far in judgment ; 

Yea, aud it holdeth in the converse, that growing similarity of mind 

Fiudeth or maketh for itself an apposite dwelling in the body ; 

Accident may modify, circumstances may bevil, externals seem to change it, 

But still the primitive crystal is latent in its many variations: 

For the map of the face, and the picture of the eye, are traced by the pen of passion ; 

And the mind fashioneth a tabernacle suitable for itself. 

A mean spirit boweth down the back, and the bowing fostereth meanness ; 

A resolute purpose knitteth the knees, and the firm tread nourisheth decision ; 

Love looketh softly from the eye, and kindleth love by looking ; 

Hate furroweth the brow, and a man may frown till he hateth ; 

For mind and body, spirit and matter, have reciprocities of power, 

And each keepeth up the strife ; a man's works make or mar him." 

Look at the excitable, if any such are within your 
circle of acquaintance, and find this theory illustrated. 
The eye — the lip — the manner — the voice — will all 
tell the story of the unquiet spirit within. 

How essential, then, that in the education of the 
minds and the hearts of the young, an effort should be 
made to inculcate the lessons and the principles of 
self-denial, self-control, and self-constraint! How fear- 
ful is the picture, when members of the same family 
give way to petulance, anger and excitement, and con- 
vert the domestic circle into a scene of mimic war ! 
When brother is heard contending with brother — father 
with son — and the lookers-on and the listeners, if any 
happen to be present, are shocked at scenes so painful 
and discreditable. To govern one's self is indeed 
among the first of duties. He is an unworthy head 
of a household who cannot control his own tem- 
per, who is constantly breaking out with angry 
remarks, and is thus not only annoying and rendering 
unhappy those about him, but affording an example 



334 THE PERILS OF EXCITEMENT, 

suited to prove productive of the worst consequences. 
The excitable, moreover, are constantly getting into 
difficulties. They say and do things in their moments 
of passion, which they would give worlds, did they 
possess them, could they unsay and blot forever from 
the memory. They wound feelings, inflict pangs, 
sever friendship, weaken love, and destroy confidence. 
The}' see the error when the storm has gone by ; but 
it is much easier to wound than to heal, to sever than 
to cement a tie. We would not have an individual so 
calm, indifferent, and dead to the things around him, 
to the joys and sorrows of life, the sentiments and 
susceptibilities of existence, as to be little more than 
an animated statue. Far from it. Nothing is more 
delightful than the interchange of courtesy and good- 
will, the sympathy of hearts, the appreciation and 
response of friendship and affection. To be animated, 
too, to be spirited and gay to a certain extent, is to be 
charming. But we need not mingle anger and 
violence with vivacity, and we would not be so 
constituted as to be constantly liable to some burst of 
passion — a burst, too, suited to make us mad for the 
time. 

An excitable man is, to our taste, not only danger- 
ous to society, but a most unpleasant companion. 
While conversing with him we have to be particularly 
cautious and guarded, lest we touch upon some of his 
prejudices, and thus unloose the whirlwind within 
him. We must agree with him in all things, or dis- 
agreeing, run the risk of a quarrel. He may not be 
able to help it — it may be his infirmity, the fault of 
his education, his early training. But, inasmuch as the 
effects of the infirmity are of the most deplorable kind, 



THE SENSE OF OBLIGATION". 335 

and as the disposition and the character are in most 
cases as capable of being moulded, formed and consti- 
tuted, as is the mind of being educated and enlarged — 
parents should not forget their responsibilities in the 
important matter alluded to. They should inculcate 
lessons and examples of self-control. If they have 
children who are naturally prone to excitement, to 
momentary bursts of passion, they should be particu- 
larly cautious in interposing all the restraints of train- 
ing and habit — all the moral checks at their command. 
Excitement, we repeat, is frequently not only the cause 
of trouble — the source of unhappiness, but the parent 
of crime. And this language will apply as well to 
nations as to individuals. The madness of an hour — 
alas! how many victims have suffered during such 
periods of delirium. The stake — the scaffold — the 
guillotine — how fearful are their histories — how blood- 
stained their records ! 



Sense of #Wigation~- $npfitak 

" I had a seeming friend ; — I gave him gifts, and he was gone. 
I had an open enemy ; — I gave him gifts, and won him. 
Common friendship standeth on equalities, and cannot bear a debt, 
But the very heart of hate melteth at a good man's love. 
Go to, then, thou that sayest, — I will give aud rivet the links, 
For pride shall kick at obligation, and push the giver from him. 
The covetous spirit may rejoice, reveling in thy largess, 
But chilling selfishness will mutter, — I must give again.' 

A FRIEND called upon us some days since, who 
was not a little annoyed at a course of conduct in 
an individual, which seemed to him a puzzle, and a 



336 THE SEXSS OF OBLIGATION. 

reflection -upon all the "higher attributes of human 
nature. It appears that the individual was merely an 
acquaintance, who had on a certain occasion been in a 
situation of much distress, and, after having applied 
in vain to others who knew him better, sought relief 
from our friend. Generous, confiding, and keenly 
alive to the difficulties of the unfortunate, he admitted 
that his pecuniary circumstances were not very flatter- 
ing, but at the same time extended the asked-for re- 
lief in the shape of a loan. The sum was not large, 
and it was to be returned in the course of a few weeks, 
inasmuch as our friend could not conveniently spare 
it but for the time specified. The matter passed on, 
the time designated elapsed, the money was not re- 
turned, and no explanation was made. But all this 
was nothing in the estimation of the individual who 
had conferred the favor, and he was disposed to over- 
look the neglect, and to fancy in his own mind a dozen 
reasons therefor. But he was surprised and pained 
to learn that the borrower, not satisfied with falsifying 
his word upon the subject, and neglecting to make 
any apology or explanation, was busily engaged, at 
every opportunity, in slandering and vilifying the 
person who had assisted him ! For a long time our 
friend was much annoyed at the circumstance. He 
could not account for it — he could not fathom the 
motive of the vilifier. He cared nothing for the 
money, and would have received freely and cheerfully 
any apology for the delay in the repayment. But to 
be abused under the circumstances — to imagine that 
he had made a man an enemy by an act of kindness 
and generosity — the thought was indeed painful, and 
the belief in the existence of such ingratitude and de- 



THE SENSE OF OBLIGATION. 337 

pravity almost impossible. Nevertheless, on inquir- 
ing particularly into all the circumstances, we arrived 
at the conclusion that the slanderer had become so 
from a sense of obligation, and that most wretched 
species of jealousy and envy which induces one human 
being to hate another because of his superiority of 
mind, heart, or circumstances — or because he feels that 
he cannot repay in a manly, generous, and frank- 
hearted manner, favors that have been extended to 
him in a like spirit. With many, this dark and des • 
picable feature may be said to exist. They hate to 
acknowledge their indebtedness to others. Nay, more, 
they decry and defame, their benefactors. They lack 
the magnanimity of truth — they are mean and 
paltry of spirit, are narrow, malignant, and jealous, 
and hence, as in the case of the individual referred to 
above, they not only shrink from all proper acknowl- 
edgment of favors received, but are guilty of the 
darker vice of injustice and outrage against those to 
whom they are indebted. Do you know of no such 
case, gentle reader ? Can you not, in your own brief 
history, point out an individual whose friendship you 
have forfeited, by placing him under a* sense of obli- 
gation ? Can you not remember the conduct of some 
one, who at a certain time sought your advice, assist- 
ance, and support, in some critical situation of life, and 
after you had extended them freely, cheerfully, and 
with effect, became less and less intimate, until at last 
the ties of friendship were severed, and the feeling 
lived but in memory ? 

Alas! for human nature. Too many forget one 
year the obligations of that which preceded it. It is 
the weakness and the vice of the multitude to shrink 



338 THE SENSE OF OBLIGATION. 

from all generous manifestations for favors received, 
to withhold all heart warm eulogies of the noble con- 
duct of others, to underrate and depreciate the good, 
to speak charily of manly and disinterested acts on 
the part of friends, neighbors, and fellow-citizens. 
Self — self — is the prompting motive of too many. 
The mean and narrow thought forces itself upon the 
mind, that, by the exaltation of others, we depreciate 
ourselves. The influences of vanity and pride are 
brought to bear ; and thus, if we cannot attain to some 
eminence for virtue and for worth, we are too dis- 
posed to bring others down to our own unenvied 
level. But, thank heaven! there are exceptions to 
this rule. There are redeeming traits in human 
nature. There are generous, noble, confiding spirits 
among mankind. There are those who respond to, 
and are grateful for favors received — who repay them 
tenfold, and never forget' the circumstances under 
which they were conferred. An act of common cour- 
tesy is, by such, treasured up as one of the bright 
things of life. They are not only happy in doing 
good unto others, but they rejoice when opportunities 
occur, when the higher, the purer, the more disinte- 
rested qualities of our nature may be manifested by 
others toward themselves. Their delight is in giving 
more than they receive — in responding more gener- 
ously than even the generous — and thus they are 
doubly happy. Would that there were more of these 
truly frank, free-hearted, and noble-minded spirits! 
"Would that there were fewer of those who writhe 
under a sense of obligation, without having the manli- 
ness to admit their position, the magnanimity to ap- 
preciate a favor, or the honesty and justice to plac© 
themselves in an independent attitude ! 



(Sklg Pmbtgts.— %\t Hanir kt not % 
Peart 

" The nations that marry the youngest are the shortest lived." 

WE notice with pleasure a disposition on the part 
of many journalists, philanthropists, and phi- 
losophers of this country, to deprecate the system of 
premature or early marriages — a system which has to 
some extent become national, and which, we feel satis- 
fied, leads to many deplorable results. The subject is 
one of great delicacy ; and yet it is so important that 
we think it should be discussed with the view of lead- 
ing to the formation of a wholesome public opinion, — 
to examples, on the part of parents, of influence and 
character, and thus to a salutary reform. A statistical 
#nd physiological investigation would, we feel satis- 
fied, produce startling results, and induce all thought- 
ful and well-regulated minds to pause with reference 
to matrimonial alliances, and seek for their children 
and those to whom they are about to unite their des- 
tinies for life, not only an adaptation in disposition, 
thought, and character, but of qualifications with regard 
to age, suited to prevent serious physical evils, bodily 
infirmities, premature decay and all the sad conse- 
quences. We have indeed a very erroneous system 
upon this subject, in our country. It is no uncommon 
occurrence to hear of young ladies becoming brides at 
an age as early as fifteen ! In many cases, too, parents 
21 (339) 



340 EAELY MAREIAGES. 

look on with delight, as if by wedding thus early, their 
daughters had, in an especial manner, secured felicity 
for life. And yet the thought of such a marriage to 
those who are really well informed, and regard in a 
proper spirit all the consequences, is quite appalling. 
In the first place, at an age so early, a female is not 
fitted by education, either to become a wife or a mother. 
Her character cannot be formed, her taste must be im- 
mature, and her understanding any thing but devel- 
oped, or her judgment ripe. She may discover in a 
few years thereafter, that the phantom feeling of the 
hour which induced her to wed, was indeed unreal, 
unsubstantial — that what she had mistaken for deep 
affection, was merely the whim of the moment, and 
the being to whom she had pledged her destiny, for 
better or worse, was not in reality fitted for her, nor 
she for him. But the error, when discovered, under 
such circumstances, cannot be repaired. Any new 
change, whether with the consent of both parties, or 
brought about by adverse tastes, quarrels and their 
bad consequences, excites the suspicion and the scan- 
dal of the world ; and the separated or divorced are 
looked upon in any but a generous or forgiving spirit. 
Such being the facts, the resolution is often taken to 
live in misery rather than become an object of the 
world's remark and rebuke. Thus a home that would 
have been happy, had the inmates been duly, equally 
mated, is rendered a scene of constant vexation, fret- 
fulness and torment. The husband, too, is apt to dis- 
cover traits in the character of his wife, which before 
he never imagined to exist, — to find a wonderful dif- 
ference between the girl and the woman, — to learn 
that he had obtained the hand but not the heart. But 



EARLY MARRIAGES. 341 

if patience be practiced — if, shrinking from her own 
thoughts, feelings and convictions, the young wife be 
willing to suffer voluntary martyrdom, her cheek will 
soon lose its bloom, her step its animated movement, 
and she will be hurried to a premature grave. Thus, 
then, these early marriages, in some cases, become the 
tomb of happiness, while in others, they destroy health, 
and in fact, shorten life. 

Will not parents think of these things, when so eager 
to usher the young, the tender, and the inexperienced, 
into the giddy world of what is called society ? Will 
they not keep their children- back for a few years, af- 
ford an opportunity for, their mental and physical de- 
velopment, and thus have an enlightened eye to their 
permanent happiness in the matrimonial state? Is 
there no mother among the readers of this article, who is 
committing the very error to which we have referred 
— who is eager to see her daughter become a wife, 
although that daughter may still be in her teens ? If 
there be any such, we beg her to pause and reflect. 
Better, far better, that her child should never quit the 
happy roof of her parents, than bestow the priceless 
jewel of her affections upon some unworthy object, or 
commit the frightful error of giving the hand without 
the heart. If, moreover, there exist any engagement, 
if any courtship be in progress, let those immediately 
interested inquire if esteem, respect, intelligence, in- 
tegrity, and perhaps more than all, manly industry, 
be characteristics of the suitor ; and whether due cal- 
culations have been made, not only as to present 
objects and considerations, but as to the future and 
regular mode of providing for the wants and comforts 

of the fair being over whom he asks to exercise so im- 
21 



342 EARLY MARRIAGES. 

portant a control. No man can have common sense, 
proper prudence and deep affection, who is willing to 
take a gentle one from the protection of her parents, 
and the happy home of which she has so long formed 
an element of pleasure, without being able to provide 
her at least with all the comforts of a reputable mode 
of living. It should be remembered, moreover, that 
woman, especially when quite young, cannot duly re- 
flect and act upon these considerations. Her parents 
must exercise this duty for her, and indeed, although 
there are many cases in which the best, the wisest, and 
most prudent of fathers and mothers exert themselves 
to the utmost, and in vain, for the happiness of their 
children, they may, we think, in the great multitude 
of instances, by a course of prudence, affection, and 
example, exercise a guarding and controlling influence 
in the serious question of matrimony. One rule of 
great importance should be observed as far as possible. 
Mothers should never permit their daughters to asso- 
ciate intimately with gentlemen, to whom they would 
earnestly and reasonably object as suitors and sons-in- 
law. 






Cjje f ifrhtg anb % Utah— IRfe aitfr its 
§«bWes. 

" They are the flatterers of the festal hour, 
The heartless parasites of present cheer." 

" A death-bed's a detector of the heart ; 
Here tried Dissimulation drops her mask." 

THE majority of mankind are so busy with their 
worldly affairs, are so eagerly engaged in the pur- 
suit of some bubble, are so wedded to Mammon, to 
ambition, to pleasure, or to crime, that they can rarely 
spare an hour with the holy and admonitory purpose 
of meditation and reflection. 

The most frightful calamity, if it occur to a neigh- 
bor or a mere acquaintance, arrests attention but a 
moment. An earthquake, if it happen a thousand 
miles away and swallow up a thousand victims, ex- 
cites but a passing remark. The details of a battle 
and all its sanguinary horrors, are perused with com- 
parative indifference, and scarcely a sigh is given to 
the dead or mangled, the widows and the orphans. 
Not that " the sons and daughters of Adam" are 
wholly insensible — not that the fountains of emotion 
are exhausted and dry within them — not that their 
sympathies are frozen or their sensibilities chilled — 
but simply that the bubbles of life and the objects of 
their immediate pursuit engross all their attention, 
and they have therefore little time for the sorrows, 
the vicissitudes and misfortunes of others. Nay, 

(343) 



344 THE LIVING AND THE DEAD. 

sickness and death may hover hard by, and the dark 
hearse and the sad-eyed mourner may obtrude upon 
their " unwilling notice," and remind them painfully, 
for a moment, that all flesh is mortal. Still the 
thought will be evanescent and avoided as speedily as 
possible ; the corpse of the departed one will soon be 
forgotten ; and in a few days or a few weeks, the 
memory, the name and the fame of the dead will only 
be recalled at times and seasons, and then, as is too 
often the case, without a pang of sorrow, or a thought 
of the small and narrow house that must, sooner or 
later, become the final tenement of all — the high and 
the low, the proud and the humble. This is not only 
the case with private individuals, but with public 
men. The lauded and the worshipped of to-day, if 
living and in power — if the dispensers of official 
patronage, or the possessors of immense wealth — alas ! 
how soon are they neglected and avoided in the hour 
of misfortune, or how speedily are they forgotten after 
they have passed through the valley of the shadow 
of death ! The parasites who fawned and nattered, 
seek out new objects of idolatry, and pour their ful- 
some adulation into other ears. They worship the 
rising sun. They live for the present. They are 
mere cieatures of the hour, who bask in the sunshine 
of prosperity, and shrink away the moment there is 
misfortune or shade. Like birds of a tropical clime, 
they shun a wintry atmosphere ; and when the flowers 
of one land wither' and fade away, they speedily take 
their flight to some more sunny region. History is 
full of sad illustrations of the infidelity of man. Even 
in the more refined nations of England and France, 
many and striking cases are recorded — some so glaring 



THE LIVING AND THE DEAD. 345 

that even the mortal remains of monarchs were quitted 
by dependents and courtiers the moment the vital 
spark had departed. They abandoned the dead for 
the purpose of worshiping the rising sun — the new 
source of patronage and power. Nay, the remains of 
royalty were in some cases rifled by servants, and 
even the ordinary preparations for interment neg- 
lected for days. To homage and servility in life suc- 
ceeded instant disregard and contempt in death. 

But even in our own day and time, and among 
friends and relatives, how soon are the loved and 
cherished, or at least beings who should be loved and 
cherished, neglected and forgotten! How the new 
bubbles of life win and fascinate, even at the expense 
of all the better and purer feelings of our nature! 
How self over-masters the nobler impulses, and the 
death-scene is lost sight of in anxiety as to the pro- 
visions of the will 1 The past and all its memories 
vanish like a misty scroll; and the future and its 
dreams of pomp, and power, and pleasure, absorb and 
occupy the whole man. This, too, where the heart is 
not naturally cold, where the gentler virtues still live, 
and where kindness, benevolence, and generosity yet 
exist. Still, the all-potent fascinations of the world, 
the vanities of life and society, the illusions of pride 
and of wealth, are overwhelming with the many ; and 
even at the death-bed, by the open coffin, or the fresh 
grave, these worldly considerations, these heartless 
and selfish dreams of the time to come, will obtrude, 
tempt, and mislead. It. is thus not only with the hale 
and strong, but even with the feeble and frail, whose 
tenure upon the things of this world cannot be re- 
garded as durable. " All men think all men mortal 



346 THE LIVING AND THE DEAD. 

but themselves." All seem disposed to postpone the 
idea of death, until the signs and indications are too 
significant to be mistaken. All cherish a lurking 
hope, that for them life has some peculiar blessing in 
store, and that their days will be long in the land of 
their birth or that of their adoption. The world and 
its vanities engross them wholly. Let " friend after 
friend depart" — let father or mother, sister or brother, 
be snatched away — and still, if in the enjoyment of 
health, the survivors rarely think of their own season 
of departure. The buried may be remembered occa- 
sionally, but how rarely ! How seldom do the living 
seize a quiet hour, to call up the images of the past 
and commune calmly with the dead ! Nay, how few 
think of the reunion, which, our faith teaches us to 
believe, will sooner or later take place in the land 
beyond the grave! The mortal is forgetful of the 
immortal. The man of time is unmindful of the being 
of eternity. The present and its bubbles absorb and 
occupy ; the future and its " gloom or glory" claim 
but little attention. This, we say, is the general rule, 
the common error. Happily there are exceptions. 
There are many who live not alone for the present, 
but for the future ; who regard this world as merely 
preliminary to another and higher condition, and who 
make their acts harmonize with their belief. They 
recognize and they discharge their true duties; and 
while they mingle hopefully, cheerfully, and gener 
ously among their fellow-creatures, their thoughts oc- 
casionally wander to the mansions of the dead, and 
their aspirations ascend to those holy and heavenly 
scenes, where the just are made perfect, and the pure 
in heart reunite with the loved, the cherished, and 






COUKTESY. 347 



the un forgotten, who preceded them in the mysterious 
pilgrimage beyond the grave. 



' In that high world, which lies beyond 

Our own, surviving love endears ; 
If there the cherish'd heart be fond, 

The eye the same, except in tears- 
How welcome those untrodden spheres ! 

How sweet this very hour to die ! 
To soar from earth, and find all fears 

Lost in thy light — Eterxitt I" 



€ 0ratesg.-~% Paimer aito % grad 



" Who will not give 
Some portion of his ease, his blood, his wealth, 
For other's good, is a poor, frozen churl.— Joanna Baillia. 

' It is in vain that we would coldly gaze 
On such as smile on us ; the heart must 
Leap kindly back to kindness, though disgust 
Hath wean'd us from all worldlings."— Byron's Ohilde Harold. 



IF young people could realize, to the proper extent, 
the advantages of courtesy of manner, tone and 
conversation, they would cultivate the quality as one 
of the gentler virtues — one, too, calculated not only to 
sweeten and brighten the social circle, but to assist 
and promote prosperity in the commercial and business 
world. Many a heart has been won by an act of 
civility, by a kind word, a generous deed, an expression 
at once affable and polished. It is so easy, too, to be 
courteous. Let the system be adopted in early life, 
and it will soon become habitual, and adorn and 
beautify the character like a grace. The courteous 



348 COURTESY. 

man can be detected at a glance. His voice, his look, 
his manner — all partake of the gentle and the refined, 
while his smile is brightened with the sunshine of the 
heart. There are, moreover, a thousand little civilities 
in which the courteous disposition is made distinct and 
palpable. Scarcely a day goes by that we are not in- 
debted to friends and neighbors for some act of kindness 
— some unsolicited favor, trifling in itself, perhaps, but 
which nevertheless indicates the temper and the heart, 
and should be responded to in a like spirit. It is related 
of General "Washington, that courtesy was one of the 
most beautiful attributes of his character. The rich 
and the poor, the humble and the exalted, were recog- 
nized by him in the spirit of kindness and good- will, 
and he would return in the promptest manner the bow 
of the humblest individual with whom he came in 
contact. And this indeed is the characteristic of the 
true gentleman, of all who recognize no distinctions 
save those produced by virtue in contrast with vice, by 
kindness in opposition to harshness. It is, however, 
amusing sometimes, to observe the deference which is 
paid by narrow minds to the rich, simply because they 
are rich. They will bow, cringe and flatter before a 
millionaire, as if he were a superior being, while a 
poor man, however meritorious, will be regarded by 
them — not only with indiference and contempt, but 
sometimes with insolence. They do not understand 
the true nature of courtesy. They cannot appreciate the 
milder and gentler virtues. It often happens too, that 
exactly in proportion as a man accumulates wealth, he 
becomes imperious, tyrannical, rude and discourteous. 
He fancies that money gives him a privilege above or- 
dinary life, and he says in manner, if not in substance 



COUKTESY. 349 

11 1 am one of the favored sons of Fortune, and have 
therefore a right to be rude and overbearing." 

Let us not be misunderstood. "We would not have 
an individual, no matter what his position in the com- 
munity, play the parasite, and by affectation or excess 
of politeness, degrade himself, and become an object 
of ridicule. There are" limits even to courtesy. Man- 
ner and compliment may be overdone. A constant 
reference to the same topics, and a frequent acknowl- 
edgement of slight favors, is ever in bad taste, while 
fulsome flattery is not only hypocritical, but offensive 
and insulting to the cultivated and correct. There is a 
medium in all things. Courtesy, to be effective, should 
be easy, graceful and natural. It should, in some sense, 
be involuntary, spring from the heart, the feelings, and 
the sensibilities. If the world at large were only cour- 
teous, life would receive a new charm. Many a circle, 
now discordant, would be made harmonious and happy, 
and much irritation, ill-will, and bitterness of feeling 
would be avoided. We some days since heard a young 
lady complain because of a supposed slight on the part 
of an acquaintance. The matter was inquired into, and 
it was ascertained that the complainant was really the 
offending party, that she had neglected various acts 
of courtesy that were due, had treated her friend with 
indifference, neglect, and marked coldness, until the 
latter, pained and mortified, had supposed her society 
was not agreeable or desirable, and had acted accord- 
ingly. Occurrences of this kind are quite common. 
The error is, that too many of us are disposed to exact 
more than we are willing to accord. We see discour- 
tesy in others, and are not able to recognize it in our- 
selves We could point out more than one individual 



350 COURTESY. 

in this city, who is in the habit of turning aside when 
he meets a friend or acquaintance, simply to avoid the 
trouble of an interchange of compliments, while others 
again will pass on, apparently abstracted in thought, 
when the real object is to escape notice. Sad errors 
these, and they lead in many cases to serious conse- 
quences. Nothing annoys a man so much as suspicion 
or belief that an acquaintance desires to shun or avoid 
him. He may care little about the intimacy in a 
general sense, and may be quite willing to terminate 
it at once. But self-pride will not permit, with im- 
punity, a contemptuous termination ; and the imagina- 
tion, ever vivid on such occasions, is apt to conjure up 
a thousand causes for the slight, whether willful or ac- 
cidental, and to stir up feeliogs of indignation, not to 
say revenge. "It is often," says a forcible writer, 
" not the great, but the little acts of incivility, that are 
treasured up and remembered." And this is strictly 
true. " Trifles, light as air," sometimes color the whole 
future of a man's life. Harsh things said even in jest, 
often rankle and fester for years, while kind words and 
courteous acts are ever recalled and dwelt upon with 
pleasure. 

" Sweet as refreshing dews, or Summer showers, 
To the long parching thirst of drooping flowers ; 
Grateful as fanning gales to fainting swains ; 
And soft as trickling balm to bleeding pains, 
Are courteous words." 



Ctmpw.-Cjw Depute of §owsfe life. 

" Of all bad things by which mankind are curs'd, 
Their own bad tempers surely are the worst." — Cumberland's Menander. 

"If the peculiarities of our feelings and faculties be the effect of variety of ex 
citement through a diversity of organization, it should tend to produce in us 
mutual forbearance and toleration. We should perceive how nearly impossible 
it is that persons should feel and think exactly alike upon any subject." 

ACOKEESPONDBNT expresses the opinion that 
" parents and teachers, even when they bestow 
adequate attention upon the minds and the morals of 
the little beings confided to their care, are apt to be 
very indifferent as to the proper training of the tem- 
per and disposition." And he is right. It often hap- 
pens that parents, in mistaken affection or erring 
judgment, actually foster and encourage a vicious 
violent, and vindictive temper, and thus sow the seeds 
of misery, not only for their offspring, but for all with 
whom they may become associated. What, indeed, 
can be more unpleasant, more painful, than sharpness 
and violence, bitterness of manner and of language ? 
What so disfigures beauty and neutralizes the purer 
and better elements of our nature ? And yet we be- 
lieve that the temper may be educated, restrained, and 
controlled, quite as readily as the mind may be devel- 
oped and improved. If the disposition be naturally 
violent and perverse, so much the more necessity for 
checks and restraints in childhood. In after-life, the 
evil is incurable. The infirmity becomes a fixed 
habit, and it is the constant source of irritation, mis 

(351) 



352 TEMPER. 

understanding, and feud. The unhappy of temper are 
to be pitied, while they are also apt to be avoided. 
'It is dangerous to converse with them, even upon 
ordinary subjects. Differ with them, and not satisfied 
with, giving their own views, they will impugn the 
motives of those who hold opposite sentiments, resort 
to unbecoming language, and not unfrequently utter 
insinuations and employ epithets totally unsuited to 
the lips of the just, the generous, and the gentlemanly. 
For the moment they are beside themselves. They 
are the monomaniacs of the hour. Passion takes the 
place of reason, prejudice that of truth, and excitement 
that of philosophy. Their violence of temper obtains 
the entire mastery ; they become excited, lost to all 
sense of propriety, and thus are objects of commisera- 
tion rather than of anger. This, when their antago- 
nist is calm, truthful, and reasonable ; but when, like 
themselves, he is possessed of an evil temper, the con- 
sequences are likely to be still more painful. The 
insipid, the lifeless, and the yielding, should by no 
means be regarded as the models of mankind. A 
proper degree of spirit and independence is absolutely 
essential to self-respect. But we may readily express 
our views, however eccentric or unreasonable, without 
manifesting violence, either of manner or of language, 
and assuredly without impugning the motives or 
assailing the integrity of those with whom we happen 
to differ. We know of nothing more commendable 
or desirable than calmness, evenness, frankness, and 
courtesy. These qualities, constantly exercised, are 
admirably calculated to soften the asperities of life, 
and to impart a charm to the occurrences of every-day 
intercourse. 



TEMPEE. 353 

The "gentler sex," too, should be especially careful 
in the cultivation of temper. "Woman yields up one 
of the loveliest attributes of her nature, when she for- 
gets the quiet, winning way that so endears, and en- 
deavors to maintain her influence and sway through 
the agency of harshness and violence. An evil tem- 
per, a propensity to quarrel, a disposition to be dis- 
satisfied, a spirit of contradiction, are bad enough in 
man, but in woman they are terrible. They destroy 
many of the softer and sweeter illusions which we de- 
light to associate with the female character ; they dis- 
sipate one of the most potent of the magic spells which 
naturally belong to her gentle sphere ; they turn into 
bitterness and gall, the currents of feeling and of sen- 
timent, that before were all harmony, devotion, and 
affection. How many a household is made a scene 
of perpetual strife, by the curse of an evil temper, 
possessed and exercised by one of the leading spirits 
of the family I All such seem determined to be per- 
verse, and never contented, when others are calm, 
tranquil, and happy. Thus their Yery presence has 
the effect of a shadow. It chills and darkens all 
within its influence. Silence and apprehension take 
the places of cheerfulness and vivacity. Silence, be- 
cause it is dangerous to speak ; and apprehension, be- 
cause a storm may always be expected, when the evil 
temper is in the ascendant. The greater the effort at 
conciliation the worse the success. Affection is re- 
pelled as impertinence, and frankness as impudence 
Even a look or a smile is denounced and rebuked ; and 
thus even the children unconsciously exult, or at least 
feel relieved of their restraint, when the excitable, the 
petulant, and the perverse, are among the absentees. 



354 TEMPER. 

The example of such a temper is most pernicious. It 
impairs the natural ingenuousness of the young, ren- 
ders them suspicious, distrustful, and hypocritical, and 
gives them false views of life. They cannot under- 
stand the many contradictions and inconsistencies 
which are constantly presented to them. They are 
thus taught to doubt and distrust, especially, as is 
often the case, when the gentler partner, for the sake 
of harmony, is apt to resort to concealment. The 
truth is withheld, fearful that its utterance will create 
difficulty, provoke a storm, and thus falsehood is indi- 
rectly inculcated. 

The harsh of temper and the hard of manner are 
rarely companionable. They make- poor friends, un- 
pleasant associates, and unenviable husbands or wives. 
The destiny that is united with theirs is subjected to 
constant anxiety, annoyance, and pain. One of two 
choices is essential — either passive obedience, and thus 
a forfeiture of every thing like independence and 
self-respect; or frank opposition, and thus an open 
and perpetual war. We believe that many men have 
been driven to ruin by the irascible spirit of their 
wives ; while many wives, on the other hand, have 
been subjected to lives of misery, of slavery, by the 
iron despotism of their evil-tempered husbands. At 
this moment, how many families — rich, poor, and in 
the middle walks of life, are dragging out a wretched 
existence through the curse of temper, because their 
domestic circle is influenced and agitated by some 
virago or some tyrant ? Alas ! for the violent, the 
passionate, and the perverse, who cannot or will not 
control themselves, and who are, therefore, perpetually 
engaged in the selfish, satanic, and unholy work of 



THE PHILOSOPHY OF KINDNESS. 355 

creating strife, contention, and misery. Many a gentle 
heart has been broken by the tyrant temper of some 
such domestic despot. Many an honest and toil-worn 
man has been driven from his home to the resort of 
the dissolute and intemperate, by the petulant and 
complaining volubility of his miscalled "better half!" 



% i P^ffpfc? «f f rates, 

" Which seeks again those chords to bind 
Which human woe hath rent apart ; 
To heal again the wounded mind, 
And bind again the broken heart." 

" The greatest attribute of heaven is mercy, 
And 'tis the crown of justice, and the glory, 
Where it may kill with right, to save with pity." 

WE recently conversed with an esteemed friend, a 
gentleman of this city, who for the last twenty 
years of his life has been connected with several of our 
leading charitable institutions, and has also for a long 
period been an inspector of one of our principal peni- 
tentiaries. In alluding to the causes of crime in the 
great majority of cases, he expressed his conviction 
that they might be traced to a weakness or malady of 
the mind, amounting to a mental imperfection, though 
not to positive insanity — to misfortune, poverty, ig- 
norance, — or to intemperance, evil associations and 
parental neglect. The cases of cool, calm, thoughtful 
and determined crime, of a disposition to go wrong 
without regard to the laws of God cr man, are few 
5s,2 



356 THE PHILOSOPHY OF KINDNESS. 

and far between. Occasionally such instances will be 
found, but they are extremely rare. Almost all, e^ven 
among the convicted, possess some meritorious traits 
of character. Many are generous, warm-hearted, and 
would rather suffer for years than betray a benefactor. 
Harshness when met by harshness, produces sullen- 
ness, obstinacy and hate ; while kindness is the key 
which in a great majority of cases, unlocks the hearts 
even of the most hardened. The poor wretch who 
after arrest, trial and conviction, is consigned to the 
cells of the Penitentiary, is apt to suppose himself 
loathed, contemned and hated by all mankind. He 
views himself as an outcast and an alien to society, and 
looks upon the officers of justice as a species of beings 
who cannot feel for his condition, who are utterly dead 
to his misfortunes, and who would not believe him, 
no matter how truthful the narrative he might detail. 
When, therefore, this error is dispelled — when he dis- 
covers that even within the gloomy walls of a prison 
are to be found kind and forgiving hearts — officers and 
inspectors who are disposed to forget the past, and to 
manifest generosity, humanity, and mercy, the better 
feelings find " vent and way," the stubborn nature is 
subdued, the confidence of the convict is won, and 
while he deplores and regrets the errors and vices that 
have hurried him into a disgraceful position, hope re- 
vives, forgiveness of God and man is sought, and a 
resolution is taken to live more correctly for the future. 
This we say, is often the effect of kindness. And this 
is the testimony of the gentleman whose opportunities 
of observation have been so ample. 

But what is the prospect for the felon, who having 
served out his first term, is sent forth into the world to 



THE PHILOSOPHY OF KINDNESS. 357 

commence anew ? Let us suppose that his fall in the 
the first case was through the force of circumstances, 
by adversity, by intemperance, by pressing and fear- 
ful temptation, rather than by any settled and deter- 
mined principle of crime. Suppose, also, that on 
leaving the walls of the prison, his penitence is sincere, 
his heart is changed, and his desire and determination 
are, to walk correctly and to act uprightly. Will he 
be cheered on and sustained by his fellow-man ? Will 
he be encouraged and assisted in the work of reform ? 
or, will the world point to him as a convict, whisper 
words of suspicion and distrust— avoid, shun and 
anathematize him? Alas! the latter policy is too 
often pursued. The victims of misfortune or of guilt 
are too generally the objects of reproach and of scorn, 
rather than of sympathy and generous pity. The Chris- 
tian doctrine in this respect is forgotten and neglected. 
The spirit of forgiveness is outraged. Man turns away 
from his fellow-man, and mocks at his appeal for as- 
sistance. " The fallen" are hunted and banned — and 
their penitence, however sincere, is distrusted and 
ridiculed. Thus their hearts become soured, their 
feelings embittered, their necessities urging and press- 
ing, and they again fall into the ways of temptation 
and the meshes of crime. Alas! miserable beings, 
when detected and convicted of a second offence. They 
are then regarded as among the doomed and the hard- 
ened, and they are branded as infamous forever. And 
yet even these second offenders might, in many cases, 
be saved. 

We know that it is difficult, in our present state of 
society, and with the eye of suspicion and the tongue 

of scandal so watchful and \igilant, to assist a fallen 
22 



853 THE PHILOSOPHY OF KINDNESS. 

sister or an erring brother, without a liability to cen- 
sorious remarks. The motive is seldom considered as 
pure or disinterested. And yet it is the duty of som,e 
one to step forward on these occasions — the solemn and 
sacred duty — What nobler incentive than the hope of 
saving a soul ? What higher inducement than the 
glorious reward of winning an erring child of humanity 
from the wrong to the right path ? How happy must 
be the consolation of the philanthropist, who turning 
the eye of memory back upon the past, sees a rescued 
and now respectable member of society, who would 
have been lost but for his timely assistance and friendly 
aid ! The occasions, too, are so numerous. 

The poor and the frail are tempted on every side. 
Not a week, not a day goes by, that hundreds of 
human beings do not hesitate at the two paths, tempted 
by poverty and necessity to choose the wrong, and yet 
urged by the still, small voice within, to adhere to the 
right. It is at such moments that kindness, sympa- 
thy and assistance are all powerful. 

Only a few days since, an aged citizen of Philadel- 
phia was waited upon by a stranger, who asked to 
have a few moments' conversation with him in private. 
The opportunity was afforded with great cheerfulness. 
The Western merchant — for such, in fact, he was — was 
ushered into the parlor of the Philadelphian, when 
something like the following conversation took place. 

" You seem to have forgotten me, Mr. H. ?" 

11 I have an indistinct recollection of having seen 
you before, and the tone of your voice is not unfamil- 
iar ; and yet beyond this my memory fails." 

u My name is Charles B , and twenty years 

ago I was an inmate of a Philadelphia prison, of which 



THE PHILOSOPHY OF KINDNESS. 359 

you were a frequent — a benevolent — a kind-hearted 
visiter." 

" I remember — I remember, said the other — bright- 
ening, smiling, and grasping the hand of the stranger 
— you look so well, have improved so greatly, that I 
hope, nay, I feel satisfied that all has gone right with 
you." 

A tear trembled in the eye of the other at so cordial 
and kindly a recognition ; his voice failed for a mo- 
ment — but then rallying again, he proceeded to tell his 
story. At the age of fifteen he was a neglected orphan, 
and with fine natural talents, a cheerful disposition, 
and a good heart, he was thrown into the society 
of the vile and the dissolute, in one of the most 
wretched sections of Philadelphia. There, in connection 
with several other lads, equally deserted or misled, he 
committed, was arrested for, tried and convicted of 
petty theft. "While in prison he was visited again and 
again by the Philadelphia philanthropist, who suc- 
ceeded not only in eradicating the vicious views he had 
imbibed, but in showing him the folly of vice, and the 
certainty of its punishment — and inspiring him with a 
determination to act correctly the moment he should 
be released. The visiter was satisfied of his sincerity, 
and gradually took a deep interest in his case. At the 
expiration of his sentence, he provided him with 
means, and having stated all the facts in a confidential 
manner to a friend in the West, obtained him a situa- 
tion in a flourishing city of that section of the Union. 
The youth was overwhelmed with gratitude. He had 
found a friend for the first time in his brief career. His 
course from that moment was onward. He speedily 
won the confidence of his employer, on whose death, 



360 THE PERILS OF WIT. 






ten years thereafter, he succeeded to a large share in 
his business. 

" I am now," he said, "an equal partner in the rep- 
utable and prosperous firm of & Co., of St. 

Louis, and I have visited Philadelphia, not only on 
business, but with the object of seeking out and return- 
ing my heart warm acknowledgments to my early, my 
ever-cherished — my often remembered benefactor." 

The old merchant wept with joy at such a reform, 
and acknowledged that this single incident had fully 
repaid him for the hours, and days, and weeks he had 
devoted, always prayerfully and hopefully, to the 
blessed cause of kindness and prison reform. 






8$t $ nils if 884. 

" Satire recoils whenever charged too high." 

A GOOD jest, a humorous remark, should be ap- 
preciated and responded to by all who can 
admire the various manifestations of superior mind. 
It is difficult, however, for even an accomplished wit 
to indulge the gift or faculty of readiness at all times, 
without doing so at the expense of the feelings of some 
friend or associate. Wit must always have an object, 
a target; and hence the difficulty. A good-natured 
sally, calculated to produce a laugh without inflicting 
a wound, is well enough. But there are, in society, 
individuals who are not only ready but bold of speech. 



TEE PERILS OF WIT. 361 

and who abuse the faculty of language and of satire 
with which they are so peculiarly endowed. Thus 
they let their shafts of ridicule % right and left, with- 
out regard to the sensitive or the diffident, and while 
creating mirth for the gay and convivial circle, they 
sometimes forget the poor victim who is writhing be- 
fore them, and who, without the ability or the self- 
possession to retort, is thus made a butt, jest, and 
mock for others, and is utterly miserable meanwhile. 
Is the course to which we have here briefly adverted 
either magnanimous or manly ? Is it generous, cour- 
teous, or humane? Would not an individual of great 
physical strength, who was in the habit of manifesting 
this strength upon the feeble in frame, and thus the 
incapable of defence, and this, too, before a circle of 
spectators — would not the conduct of such an indi- 
vidual be regarded as any thing but chivalric and 
justifiable ? Would he not be esteemed rather as a 
coward than a brave man ? And yet the difference in 
a struggle of wit and intellect, with the knowledge 
that our opponent is inferior, with the consciousness 
that he is diffident and we are bold, is not a whit less 
unworthy. Let us not be misunderstood. Good-na- 
tured, benevolent- minded raillery and mirth, are well 
enough, and one of the most kind-hearted men of our 
acquaintance is quite celebrated for his jests, gibes, 
puns, and satirical remarks. But we scarcely know 
how he manages — and yet he does — never to offend 
or wound. The soul of good-nature himself, his, desire 
is to communicate pleasure, to excite a laugh, and at 
the same time to avoid any thing personal or offensive. 
There are others again with whose wit a cutting bit- 
terness is forever associated; and who, rather than 



862 THE PERILS OF WIT. 

miss the opportunity of saying a smart thing, do not 
hesitate to inflict a severe wound, and one that may 
rankle for years. A fearful faculty — a dangerous pro- 
pensity. Its exercise has lost many a friend; nay, 
many a fortune. We have heard more than one apt 
illustration. A few years since, in England, an afflu- 
ent old gentleman had a nephew for whom he felt 
much attachment, and to whom he intended to be- 
queath a large portion of his property. The young 
man was a careless, thoughtless, hap-hazard character, 
who really loved his uncle, but who had a flippant 
and reckless manner of expressing himself; a manner 
intended rather to display his facility of language and 
readiness of wit, than to do injury fco any human 
being. Nevertheless, on a certain occasion he so far 
forgot himself and propriety, as to crack a bitter joke 
at the expense of his uncle, and to intimate that it was 
little better than madness in the old gentleman to 
hoard his fortune in such a miserly spirit, when he, 
the nephew, intended to squander it with such prodi- 
gality ! The mistake was fatal. The sensitive point 
in the mind of the uncle was touched. The nephew 
saw that he had committed a frightful error, and at- 
tempted to correct it, but all in vain. He rather in- 
creased than decreased the difficulty. The. old gentle- 
man never forgave him, but altered his will, and cut 
him off with a few hundred pounds. 

The gentler sex, too, are often guilty of this error. 
Some time since a very worthy young merchant of this 
city, a merchant devoted to business, plain in his man- 
ners, and with little taste for fashion and its follies, 
was introduced to the daughter of a friend, and became 
a suitor. The merchant possessed many noble quali- 



THE PEKILS OF WIT. 363 

ties, but he had risen from a very humble position in 
life, and had been compelled to toil early and late 
during the first years of his manhood, and was not 
of such finished manners, and so accomplished in 
literary tastes and acquirements, as some others whose 
opportunities had been far superior. But he was now 
on the top wave of prosperity, his character, standing, 
and credit, were high in the community, and the 
match was regarded as particularly desirable for the 
lady. She also appeared so to consider it, and en- 
couraged his attentions. But she likewise encouraged 
those of one or two more dashing beaux, young gen- 
tlemen who prided themselves more upon their ac- 
quaintance with the gay and convivial than the real 
and the substantial, and who taught themselves to 
believe that " mere business men 11 were quite an inferior 
race. It so happened that, on a certain evening, the 
merchant suitor was present with one or two of the 
gentry we have described, when one of them ventured 
to single him out as an object of wit and satire, and was 
encouraged in the unworthy work by the young lady 
herself. The party became somewhat excited during 
the scene, and in the course of this excitement the feel- 
ings of the merchant were so outraged, not seriously 
or intentionally, perhaps, but still to such an extent, 
that he writhed in very agony for the time, until, 
unable to withstand the raillery any longer, he seized 
his hat, left the room, and never appeared there again. 
This happened several years since, and the fair offender 
against proper feeling and good manners, is still among 
the Misses, her chances not a little impaired by time, 
and by the unhappy termination of the affair to which 
we have so briefly alluded. But it is not necessary 



364 THE PERILS OF WIT. 

to multiply cases. An offence may be given very 
readily, a prejudice may be induced, a hatred excited, 
even by a jest, if therewith a bitter and insulting spirit 
be associated. Often too, in such cases, the offender is 
astonished at the result of his remark, and would give 
any thing in the world to be able to recall it. But it 
cannot be forgotten very readily, even when forgiven ; 
or a coolness may thus be caused and a feud com- 
menced, which may continue for years, and be the 
source of much anxiety and anguish. Therefore, 
gentle reader, if disposed to be witty, strive also to be 
kindly and good-natured, and by all means avoid 
every species of satire that is calculated to pain, mor- 
tify, or wound the feelings of the diffident and the 
sensitive, Remember the language of the poet — 

Curs'd be the wit, how well soe'er it flow, 
That tends to make one worthy man my foe, 
Give virtue scandal, innocence a fear, 
Or from the soft-eyed virgin steal a tear." 



§Ka|pflintmtnt-Jfait^ 



11 There is an Eye above, my son, 
That slumbers not, nor sleeps ; 
There is a friend in Heaven, love, 
Who still his vigils keeps. 

And though in trouble's darkest hour 
His face he seems to shroud, 

Believe, remember— 0, my son, 
There's light behind the cloud !" 



AFEIEND recently mentioned to us the particu 
lars of a case, in which, an individual of impul- 
sive character, sanguine temperament and vaulting am- 
bition, experienced a bitter disappointment, which so 
affected his mind and heart, that he sickened, withered, 
and died. At first the story seemed improbable ; and 
yet the circumstances were given in such detail, and 
on such authority, that we, at last, felt satisfied that 
the narrative was strictly accurate. On reflection, too, 
we were able to point out several cases in which dis- 
appointment had directly or indirectly driven its vic- 
tims to despair, intemperance, and thus in the end 'to 
utter ruin. One of a more refreshing character not 
long since passed unHer our observation, in which an 
individual of great energy of purpose, and who had 
devoted a large portion of his life to the accomplish- 
ment of an object, discovered, just as the prize was, to 
all appearances, within his grasp, that he had been de- 
ceived and betrayed, and that all his efforts had been 
worse than wasted. 

(365) 



366 DISAPPOINTMENT. 

"He gathered dust, when he had hop'd tu see 
The richest fruits ; the buds that promis'd fair 
Were early blasted, or but grew to be 
A mockery — a harvest of despair." 

The blow was a fearful one, and for a time he was 
stunned and appalled. His time, his means, his hopes, 
and his character, had all been devoted to an object 
every way honorable; and he had every reason to 
anticipate a satisfactory result. His friends assured 
him that such would be the case, and thus the disap- 
pointment was the more unexpected, the more over- 
whelming. We knew him intimately, had seen him 
wrestle and triumph over many petty difficulties, had 
noticed with pleasure the recuperative energies of his 
manly nature in ordinary trials and vicissitudes, and 
therefore believed that even in this, he would eventu- 
ally master the demon of bitterness and despair with 
which he evidently was struggling. We watched him 
closely, narrowly. He evidently strove to master his . 
feelings — to appear gay, thoughtless and light-hearted, 
and thus to conceal, as well as overcome, the moody 
disquiet within. The contest nevertheless was a fearful 
one. His cheek grew pale, his ej^e lost its wonted fire, 
and his voice its full and melodious tone. But again 
and again he roused himself, sought new objects, new 
pursuits, new excitements of a wholesome character, 
and finally prevailed! The bitterness passed away, 
the melancholy forsook him, and although the ordeal 
was a fiery one, he is now able to turn to it calmly, 
philosophically, and to speak of it coolly as one of the 
lessons of life's sad experience. Nine men out of ten 
would have fallen under the blow, four out of five 
would have sunk never to rise again. The hopes of 
years had been dashed to the dust by a single act — 

" Those high-built hopes, that crush us by their fall—." 



DISAPPOINTMENT. 367 

and what had long appeared as verdure and promise, 
was found to be sterile, bubble-like, and hollow. 

But his was the true policy, the manly course 
With time, faith and energy, almost any difficulty may 
be f surmounted, any disappointment overcome. This 
life at best is one of uncertainty. The brightest hopes 
of to-day may vanish before to-morrow. The past we 
remember, the present we see, but the future no 
man may foretell. While striving and struggling to 
accomplish an honorable purpose, while moving on- 
ward in the pursuit of fame, fortune, or the means of 
independence and content, we should be prepared for 
vicissitudes. Nay, we should fortify * ourselves to 
wrestle with and overcome them. There are few who 
have lived beyond the years of manhood, have toiled 
and contended in the various avenues of the out-door 
world, who have not been deceived, misled, disap- 
pointed, and betrayed. There are few who are stand- 
ing upon the threshold of busy and responsible life, 
"and straining their eyes into the dim future," who 
will not experience bitterness of spirit at the failure of 
fond schemes, the dissipation of bright hopes, the dis- 
appearance of brilliant prospects. This they should 
expect. They should strive to deserve success, but at 
the same time be prepared for failure. 

" In struggling with misfortune, lies the proof 
Of virtue." 

One disappointment, moreover, should not depress 
or restrain. Such is the lot of man ; and experience, 
even when it comes through trial and sorrow, is cal- 
culated to chasten, soften and instruct. 

We have a friend who cherishes and inculcates the 
philosophy that every thing is for the best, not only 



368 DISAPPOINTMENT. 

as relates to the world beyond the grave, but even in 
our mortal condition. Thus, when he experiences or 
hears of a calamity, he is disposed to regard it as a 
blessing in disguise, as something providential, and 
calculated in the end to produce good fruit. The dark- 
ness of to day, he argues, may only be a prelude to a 
bright and glorious morrow. The misfortunes of the 
present moment, he contends, are often designed to 
qualify us for a higher prosperity in years to come. 
And this, he says, is not merely a matter of faith and 
theory, but it is based upon his own experience, as 
well as upon a careful examination of the lives of 
others. Disappointments are useful — nay, they are 
often hallowed and intended in the kindliest spirit. 
They teach us our dependence upon the Deity, show the 
fallibility of human nature, prove the uncertainty of 
temporal things, and thus induce us to think less of 
this world, and more of that beyond the grave. 

"Faith evermore looks upward." 

This is certainly a wise, a hopeful, a truly moral 
philosophy. If our motives be pure and our objects 
laudable, we have nothing to fear in the future. Even 
disappointment in such cases is calculated to bring 
consolation, for we may hope that we deserve some- 
thing better, and cherish the belief that that better will 
still be realized. Few of us know ourselves. Few 
thoroughly understand their own weaknesses, passions, 
prejudices and infirmities. We know not what is best for 
us. There is a Providence that superintends and over- 
looks ; that comprehends at a glance, not only the past 
and the present, but also the teeming and mysterious 
future. Let us have faith in that Providence : and 



THE BALANCES OF LIFE. 



while we strive to deserve blessings, let us be prepared 
for disappointments— prepared not only to meet and 
encounter, but to wrestle with and overcome them. 

" The sun shines brightly behind every storm." 



t %imm of life. 



WE have often thought, in examining calmly and 
carefully into the various phases of human 
existence, in analyzing the bills of mortality, and com- 
paring the changes and the chances that occur in the 
fortunes of the rich and the poor, the proud and the 
humble, that despite the bioad contrasts that appear 
on the surface of things, despite the fact that the many 
seem miserable and the few happy, comparatively 
speaking, the enjoyments of this world are more nicely 
balanced, more wisely and equitably divided, than the 
superficial are apt to imagine. We now speak in a 
general sense, and not with reference to individual 
cases. The position, too, as it seems to us, is rational. 
Why should the few be favored at the expense of the 
many ? Why should a handful of human beings be 
selected out as the recipients of the high favors of for- 
tune, of health, and of happiness, to the neglect of the 
millions? Why should the rich by inheritance, or 
by some sudden turn of prosperity, be eminently con- 
tented in mind, and exempt from the ordinary cares 
to which flesh is heir, and the multitude, equally up- 
right, intelligent, and virtuous, be subjected to every 



370 THE BALANCES OF LIFE. 

species of anxiety and anguish ? Tt is not so. Such 
a law would conflict with the beneficent principles of 
the Author of our being and the Kuler of the world. 
It would chill the heart of philanthropy, and deaden 
the incentives to virtue. It would discourage the lover 
of his kind, and retard the onward march of humanity. 
But, we repeat, it is not so. The enjoyments of life 
are nicely distributed and wisely balanced. However 
desirable wealth may be, however power and place 
may be coveted, it by no means follows that either is 
inevitably associated with happiness. And assuredly 
not, when the means of attainment have been tortuous, 
unfair, unmanly, or dishonest. 

We are among those who believe that, while virtue 
has its own reward, vice is sure to be accompanied or 
followed by an adequate punishment. And thus, we 
hold the doctrine that, however dizzy the elevation, or 
however Crcesus-like the wealth, there cannot be ease 
of mind, calm of spirit, and repose of conscience, if 
fraud and treachery and crime have formed "the 
rungs of the ladder" through which the elevation has 
been attained. Nay, in the very supposed hour of 
enjoyment and of triumph, some unseen, some unex- 
pected calamity, will be sure to track the footsteps of 
the ambitious and the avaricious. Sickness will come 
with its debilitating and paralyzing influence; the 
loved ones of the soul will be borne away in the arms 
of death ; a sudden expose will darken and overshadow 
reputation; and thus life, though apparently golden 
and glittering, will be hollow, empty, and vain. On 
the other hand, the moderate in circumstances, but the 
pure in heart, the individual who is of a cheerful and 
contented spirit, who is in the full enjoyment of health, 



THE BALANCES OF LIFE. 37i 

and of all his faculties, who is regular in his habits, 
and correct in his social discipline, who has no gnaw- 
ing adder of remorse eating away at his conscience, 
whose sleep is deep and tranquil, and whose waking 
moments are free from self-reproach — surely such a 
person, and there are thousands and tens of thousands 
of such in all the walks of humble life, is, compara- 
tively speaking, a happy and an envied being. He 
appreciates his position, is grateful for the blessings 
he enjoys, and while prompted by a laudable desire to 
attain an independent position, he does not fret his 
soul away in bitter jealousy at the success of others, 
and would not, for the mines of Golconda, wrong a 
friend, malign a neighbor, defraud a fellow-creature, 
or darken his memory in all time to come, by the per- 
petration of any base or unworthy act. 

True, he may live for years, and only live. He may 
find it difficult to save any thing for a rainy day ; and 
at times, for such is the human lot, he may have his 
trials, his temptations, his anxieties, and his pangs. 
But, with a due reliance upon self and upon Provi- 
dence, with a consciousness that all is right within, 
with the proud satisfaction that if the grave should 
claim him to-morrow, he would pass away without a 
dark spot upon his character, a perpetual sunshine 
may be said . to play around his heart, to etherealize 
his mind and spirit, and to rob even care of its frown. 
It is thus, we contend, that the hopes and the pleasures 
of life are nicely and wisely balanced. On the other 
hand, how many temptations is wealth subjected to, 
f rom which poverty is exempt; temptations in a 
thousand forms, and which the affluent themselves do 
not realize until too late. There is no greater curse 
23 



872 THE BALANCES OF LIFE. " 

in this world than idleness ; there is no more miserable 
man than an idler. He either is often the victim of 
bad habits, or the prey of morbid fancies. His imagi- 
nation is quick and active ; he becomes miserable, and 
he scarcely knows why. The subject is a fruitful one, 
and capable of many illustrations. The true philoso- 
phy is to appreciate and enjoy the comforts we possess, 
the blessings that are vouchsafed to us, and not to 
wander after forbidden fruits, covet our neighbor's 
property, or aspire beyond reasonable bounds. If we 
look around us, we will find that there are others far 
less favorably circumstanced than ourselves, and who 
yet are cheerful, contented, and grateful. There are 
certain laws which govern human society, either of 
which, if violated Constantly and habitually, will be 
attended with bitter consequences. This all should 
remember when examining their own cases, and com- 
plaining of their own misfortunes. Thus, he who is 
habitually treacherous or false, cannot look for con- 
fidence and respect on the part of his friends and asso- 
ciates. And thus, again, he who is idle and dissolute, 
will be sure, sooner or later, to pay the adequate 
penalties. And so too he who is careless and neglect- 
ful, may look for carelessness and neglect with regard 
to his family, his friends, his business, and his fortune. 
Each should act according to his position, his means, 
and his responsibilities, and with reference not only to 
self and to time, but to society, and a higher, holier, 
and happier condition in the life to come. 

" Act well your part, 
There all the honor lies." 



I 



JfikEfg; or, tfr Jfak ana font. 

" A heart as far from fraud as Heaven from Earth." 

WE recently read a brief inscription on a tomb- 
stone, comprised in these emphatic words — 
" faithful till death." The sleeper had been a 
wife, and the tribute, recorded in marble, was by her 
bereaved husband. The epitaph was simple, and in 
some degree commonplace, and yet it told the story 
of a life of truth and fidelity. The memory of such a 
being must ever be cherished, not only with tender- 
ness and affection, but with conscientious respect and 
awe. There are few who are faithful to the last ; few 
who are true in all things ; few who may be relied 
upon in every difficulty and under all circumstances ; 
few who will cling the closer in the hour of adversity. 
There is, indeed, nothing on this side the grave more 
truthful, more beautiful, more priceless, than fidelity. 
And this language will apply to many conditions of 
life, many phases of feeling, many traits of character, 
and many understandings between man and man. 
Fidelity is the true, and treachery is the false. The 
one has its source in the noblest feelings of our nature, 
and the highest conceptions of principle, and the other 
finds its excuse and its apology in sophistry, selfish- 
ness, and self-deception. The one adorns, dignifies, 
elevates, and refines; the other darkens, defaces, de- 
bases, and brutalizes. Who that has ever enjoyed 
23 (373) 



374 FIDELITY. 

the privilege and the blessing of a faithful friend — one 
who was so in deed as well as in name — one who was 
so in the hour of vicissitude, in the day of trial, as 
well as in the summer and sunshine of prosperity and 
fortune — one who was so through good report and 
through evil — one who was so, not for a day or a 
year, but from boyhood up and on, through weal anr" 
through woe, in manhood and in declining age — whcx 
indeed, that has experienced all the truth, the sym- 
pathy, the solicitude, and the generosity of such a 
friend, can imagine any thing more valuable, more 
precious, or better calculated to console, to cheer, and 
to brighten the gloomy paths of the working-day 
world ? Alas ! for the being who has never realized 
the genuine sympathy of a kindred spirit — who has 
gone through the world alone — who has never met 
with one responsive heart — who has never won the 
confidence, the friendship, the respect, and the affec- 
tions of a fellow-creature 1 And still more lamentable, 
if the isolated, the neglected, and the friendless have 
been sensitive, susceptible, and capable of appreciating 
all the finer and gentler emotions of the human breast. 
And yet there are such unfortunates ; at least there 
are many who, full of sympathy themselves, can excite 
little or no sympathy in others. They are kind, gen- 
erous, and amiable, and yet they lavish their affections 
in vain, and meet with no response. Is it to be won- 
dered at, that such beings sometimes become disheart- 
ened, peevish, and at last cynical ? Can we be sur- 
prised that they at length seek for some new source 
of pleasure, and wrapping themselves up in their own 
unhappiness, so to speak, determine that the world is 
cold, heartless, and unfeeling. It is regarded as some- 



FIDELITY. 375 

what romantic and sentimental, to see two individuals 
of the same sex warmly attached to each other, living, 
as it were, the one for the other, always associating, 
always harmonizing, always defending, if necessary — 
in brief, knit and united by an indissoluble bond of 
friendship. Nevertheless, the spectacle is one that is 
often gazed upon with feelings of envy. The sym- 
pathy, the confidence, and the fidelity, that unite and 
bind two such spirits, must be delightful. And if this 
be the case between man and man, how heavenly must 
be the union and harmony between the sexes ! " Faith- 
ful till death!" Who that is about to enter into 
wedded life, would not hope to have such an epitaph 
written above his mortal remains by the being of his 
choice, and at the same time desire to be able to indite 
a like inscription, should he be the survivor? We 
can imagine no situation more touching than that of 
two aged beings bent with years and traveling slowly 
down the hillside of life, hand in hand and heart to 
heart — who feel, as they tread upon the threshhold of 
the grave, that from the moment they stood together 
before the altar, the sentiment of respect and affection 
had remained unchanged — that they had gone on from 
year to year, and from season to season, united in 
spirit and in soul, relying, confident, satisfied, and 
faithful. Fidelity is one of the noblest of virtues. It 
purifies and adorns the human character. It is a twin- 
sister of truth, and it can never have affinity or sym- 
pathy with treachery or falsehood. " He is," observed 
a friend of ours, a few days since, when speaking of 
another, " he is a true man. There is nothing false, 
double-dealing, or hypocritical in his composition. 
He would scorn to speak an untruth, and he could 



376 FIDELITY. 

never debase himself by a treachery ." A warm eulo- 
gium, and a just one, under the circumstances. But 
fidelity is a virtue that is not sufficiently appreciated. 
There are few, moreover, who are faithful in all 
things — who are faithful in business, faithful in 
friendship, faithful in morals, and faithful in those 
courtesies and obligations which are so admirably 
calculated to soften and sweeten the social ameni- 
ties of society. "We some days since saw a poor 
fellow earnestly engaged in caressing a dog. The 
affection that he lavished upon the animal was so 
extraordinary that we ventured to ask the reason. He 
hesitated a moment, and then related a story of do- 
mestic sorrow, and turning to his dog, with tears in 
his eyes, and a voice broken with emotion, exclaimed, 
'' This poor beast is all I have left. He at least is 
faithful." A distinguished statesman, some years 
since, exclaimed, a One country, one home, and one 
wife!" He had doubtless garnered his affections 
within his own hallowed household, and his idea of 
human happiness was embodied in the sentiment we 
have quoted. And where, indeed, on this side the 
grave, should we look for real enjoyment, for earthly 
happiness, if not within the sacred precincts of home, 
and in the fidelity of the beings of our friendship and 
our affections ? 



fikt wok ®aW. 

° One science only will the genius fit, 
So vast is art — so narrow human wit." 

THE difference between tact and talent is quite 
remarkable. In some cases the two qualities are 
combined, but in many it is otherwise. Talent may 
be regarded as a peculiar quality of mind, by which 
an individual may be fitted for the accomplishment of 
some important work, either in literature, in art, in 
science, or in mechanics. Certain persons seem to be 
especially qualified for the successful achievement of a 
particular work, and thus they accomplish it with 
comparative readiness. To them it is easy, while to 
others it is difficult, if not impossible. Thus, for ex- 
ample, we frequently see individuals who are admir- 
ably adapted to some distinct branch of science or art. 
Nature seems to have fitted them in an especial man- 
ner for the task, and they readily secure success and 
reputation. Others, equally well endowed in all other 
respects, may struggle and strive for years, and yet be 
still immeasurably behind. Indeed, there are some pur- 
suits and callings that can scarcely be acquired, or at 
least with any degree of perfection, unless in the first 
place the learner have some decided taste or faculty 
therefor. Witness, for example, the case of a painter. 
How few of the multitude who toil up the steeps of 
fame in this profession, ever become eminent I There 
must be genius or talent in the first place. The cele» 

(37,7) 



378 TACT AND TALENT. 

brated masters of ancient as well as of modern times 
have their imitators in almost countless numbers, but 
the j are only imitators. The master-touches of the 
great originals can no more be reproduced than the • 
departed glow on the cheek of beauty. And so too in 
the world of literature. The Homers, the Miltons, the 
Shakspeares and the Byrons, who flashed like intel- 
lectual meteors over the world of mind, and left behind 
them imperishable records of original thought and pow- 
erful genius, must be regarded as among the master- 
spirits of their times, and all attempts to follow their 
footsteps by the multitude of merely ordinary intellect- 
ual endowments, are only calculated to show the pre- 
eminence of " the few, the immortal names that were 
not born to die." Nevertheless, tact is often successful, 
in a worldly sense, where talent and genius fail. And 
thus it is that many of the great inventors of the world 
have gone down to the grave in comparative poverty, 
while the fruits of their research, their ingenuity and 
their thought have been seized upon by others, and 
with the most signal success. In many cases, the indi- 
vidual who devotes his days and his nights to some 
arduous intellectual pursuit, who pursues some darling 
object of his ambition, his taste or his fancy, regardless 
of the every-day affairs of life, is apt to become so in- 
terested, so engrossed, as to forget or overlook, to some 
extent, the absolute means of ordinary subsistence, and 
thus to find himself constantly engaged in two strug- 
gles, one for bread and the other for fame. His pas- 
sion and his genius are for some particular object, and 
in aiming at its accomplishment, he forgets the chances 
and changes of every-day life, and to a certain extent 
oses his identity with mankind. Not so the individ- 



TACT AND TALENT. 79 

ual of tact. He rather avails himself of the genius and 
talent of others. Conscious that he himself is defective, 
he watches for opportunities, and thus makes service- 
able in his own case, the advantages of his friends 
and neighbors. Genius often originates and designs, 
and tact applies or makes useful. The one may be 
said to embody the mind, the other the practical 
application of that mind. The one occupies years of 
earnest thought and patient investigation in solving 
some great problem, the other awaits the result and 
applies it to some useful purpose. Tact, moreover, 
often succeeds where talent fails. The quality is in- 
tended for society and the world, and there are few 
who have not mixed with mankind observingly, who 
can become tacticians, not only socially, but politically 
and commercially. They, in fact, watch and catch the 
living manners as they rise, and adapt themselves to 
circumstances. They skim over the surface, rather 
than penetrate into the recesses of the heart, and while 
they have a smile and a good word for all, it is rarely 
that they manifest any particular depth of feeling. Tact 
in oratory is almost as essential as talent. Many an 
eloquent speaker has not only exhausted his subject^ 
but worn out the patience of his listeners, merely for 
the want of a little tact. Had he stopped half way, all 
would have been well, and he would have retired with 
signal eclat. But interested himself, and with a flood of 
ideas constantly rushing upon him, he has hurried on 
from point to point, until at last, wearied, impatient 
and excited, the good effect that might have been pro- 
duced has been lost entirely. There are other orators 
again, who manifest a sad want of tact, by speaking too 
frequently. They are ready to display themselves on 



380 THE PENITENT. 

all occasions, and hence they soon become flat, stale, and 
unprofitable. Talent is an enviable, a desirable qual- 
ity, but tact is almost as essential in many of the walks 
of life. Not a few of our public men are distinguished 
as much by tact as by talent. They appear before 
their fellow-citizens only when necessary, and then 
they combine and display prudence, judgment, and 
good sense. They are indisposed to exhaust them- 
selves, either mentally or in any other sense. They 
are tacticians by experience and observation, and 
they have thus discovered that it is quite as essen- 
tial to occupy a retired position at times, as it is at 
others to court the eye of the public. But the great 
desideratum is talent associated with tact. The one 
thus directs and assists the other; and when united 
with industry and perseverance, they are, in the great 
multitude of cases, productive of the happiest results. 



" Deal gently with the erring." 

CASES are constantly occuning, in which, by in- 
discretion, error, or misfortune, individuals are 
toppled from a high position in society, and made 
bankrupt, not only in fortune, but in friendship and 
in reputation. The world suddenly becomes dark to 
them, and the future hopeless. They feel as if pros- 
trated by some overwhelming blow; and unable to 



THE PENITENT. 3fci 

rally their energies, they sink step by step, and soon 
pass into a condition truly deplorable, even the con- 
templation of which they would have shrunk from 
with horror in their " better days." Nevertheless, if 
animated by sympathy, and encouraged by hope, they 
will readily rally; and, engaging once more in the 
active scenes of life, soon forget their recent misfor- 
tune. Adversity, indeed, often truly tests the char- 
acter. Nay, it not only tests the innate energy of the 
sufferer, but it tests the sincerity of his friends. All 
are more or less liable to reverses. There is scarcely 
an individual in the enjoyment of fortune, who has 
not passed through more than one fiery struggle. 
We occasionally hear of cases of " uninterrupted pros- 
perity," but they are generally exaggerations. Most 
of us are too apt to look at the present alone, and to 
be regardless of the past as well as the future. We 
see but the success or the failure of the present hour, 
and we make up our judgment accordingly. A lucky 
speculation often wins for its projector the reputation 
of great sagacity. But let the same person make a 
frightful blunder, and he will at once not only be 
laughed at and derided, but even his integrity will be 
assailed. It is the fashion of the world to bow be- 
fore success, and to turn away coldly and indifferently 
from failure. 

But exactly in the degree that misfortunes await 
upon integrity and perseverance, should courage and 
determination increase. The true doctrine is, never to 
despair. A little longer, and the night that has been 
so long dark, may brighten with hope and pros- 
perity. Who has not seen cases, in which individuals 
have abandoned themselves to inactivity, when, if 



382 THE PENITENT. 

they bad beld out a little longer, all would bave been 
well? Who cannot point out, in bis own history, 
some incident in which a little more perseverance 
would have accomplished the object ? It is impossi- 
ble for a human being to foretell the hour when a 
change for the better will take place— when the tide 
of fortune will turn — when the prospect, however 
dark, will soften into brightness and beauty. " While 
there is life there is hope;" and no man who has 
energy and strength, and integrity and character, 
should idly abandon himself to despair. If, more- 
over, an individual has, in some hour of temptation, 
in some moment of weakness, committed an indiscre- 
tion or an error — one, too, of a truly serious char- 
acter — and if thereafter he should become penitent 
and ready to make every reparation in his power, the 
world should not turn away coldly, tauntingly and 
mockingly ; but the infirmities of our nature should 
be duly considered, and he should be afforded another 
chance. "Let him who is without sin cast the first 
stone !" Who is without infirmities ? Who is free 
from weakness and error? And why, because a 
fellow-creature has gone astray once, has committed 
some rash act — an act that he now deplores in the 
very bitterness of anguish — why should he be banned, 
shunned, and avoided ? If sensitive and unobtrusive, 
his case is only the worse. The bold and heartless 
treat such things lightly, and thus readily brave all 
the consequences. 

But there are others, who, when they have once 
gone wrong, fancy that the whole world is ringing 
with their offence, that they are unworthy any longer 
to mingle with their fellow- creatures, and hence they 



THE PENITENT. 883 

shrink into retirement and wither away in shame. 
They cannot brave the harsh looks and harsher words 
of the heartless and the cruel. They fancy that the 
eyes of the whole community are directed toward 
them, and that they never can recover a position of 
influence and respectability. Surely, a kindly, a gen- 
erous, a forgiving spirit, should be manifested toward 
all such. A distinction should be made between the 
deliberately guilty, and the misjudging and the indis- 
creet. A single error — the fruit of circumstances — 
should not overwhelm at once and forever. But what 
is the remedy ? In the language of the old adage — " a 
friend in need is a friend indeed." There are hundreds 
in every community who have the means, as well as 
the power, to assist, revive, and restore, such unfor- 
tunates as we have described. But how few are will- 
ing to step forward at moments so critical! How 
few, even with the disposition, can command the 
energy ! The current is against the erring and mis- 
guided — and the cases are rare, in which men will 
attempt to stem the current, especially if self-interest 
point the other way. Yet the effort is a manly, a 
noble one. He is indeed a genuine philanthropist, 
who, in the hour of downfall and misfortune, hastens 
to the victim, and at once endeavors to soothe and 
assist. He is superior to his kind, who, even when 
error, the infirmity of a fatal hour, or the temptation 
of a critical moment, has been the cause of disaster 
and dishonor — is still willing to judge kindly and 
generously, to whisper words of consolation as well 
as to proffei the means of assistance. 



Cjre Ises of Hbksttg. 

" How frail men, things ! how momentary both !" — Toting. 

ACELEBKATED writer has said: "In prosperity 
prepare for a change — in adversity hope for one." 
A distinguished orator, also, on a great occasion re- 
marked: "Kemember, the wheel of Providence is 
always in motion, and the spoke that is uppermost 
will be under — therefore, mix trembling with your 
joy." We have been reminded of these sentiments 
and admonitions by the recent disaster to the steamer 
Swallow, in which, in the course of a single hour, 
many, who were beaming with youth, and hope, and 
expectation, were hurried into another world ; and by 
the appalling fire at Pittsburg, in which the rich were 
suddenly made poor, and the prosperous reduced to a 
condition of comparative want. But these calamities, 
however deplorable, and calculated to touch our feel- 
ings and excite our sympathies, should not be without 
their uses. The ways of Providence are often myste- 
rious; and it not unfrequently happens that even 
frightful adversities or incidents, which so appear at the 
time, conceal great moral blessings — are fraught with 
solemn admonitions to the world, and are designed to 
show how vain, poor, and perishing, are earthly riches, 
and how " a breath can mar, as a breath has made," 
even the loftiest and the wealthiest among the sons 
of men. But for these occasional disasters — but for 
(384) 



THE USES OF ADVERSITY. 385 

solemn and striking admonitions — too many of us 
would grow careless and indifferent, forgetful of the 
transitory nature of this life, and of our responsibilities 
to the Deity. How often do we find the comparatively 
sordid and hardened, moved, touched, and melted by 
the death of some friend or relative — by some serious 
affliction at home — by some frightful calamity that 
passes immediately under their eyes! Death may 
stalk around our neighborhood, may strike down ac- 
quaintance after acquaintance, and we still remain 
cold and indifferent. But let him enter our own 
dwelling, victimize a beloved wife, a cherished child, 
or threaten, through some of his ministers of disease, 
to shorten our own career, and then we may be in- 
duced to pause, to look wistfully at the past, the pres- 
ent, and the future, and to decide that it is wise and 
well to make some preparation for a catastrophe that 
is inevitable. So also with great calamities. We 
may hear of them in foreign countries, in distant cities 
and remote regions; earthquakes may engulf, and 
wars may sweep away thousands of human beings — 
and yet the details will scarcely excite a momentary 
sensation. A few expressions of horror will be ut- 
tered, and then the thought will steal over us, that 
the trouble is remote, that we at least are safe, and the 
wide-spread ruin will be soon forgotten. 

" All men think all men mortal but themselves." 

But when death and desolation are brought to our 
own doors, when we can be made to realize by imme- 
diate proximity, the disaster and all its terrible con- 
sequences — 

"when some alarming shock of Fate 

Strikes through the wounded heart the sudden dread/' 



386 THE USES OF ADVERSITY 

then it is that the mortal quivers — that the soul is 
awed, and we feel our own insignificance and nothing 
ness, and our utter dependence upon an overruling 
Providence. The warnings of the Almighty are thus 
thundered directly into our ears. His admonitions are 
breathed from the cold and deathlike object of affec- 
tion, and from the crumbling and smoking ruins of 
the conflagrated city. Startled from our torpor, for 
the moment at least, we look beyond this life and this 
" ant-hill earth," we remember our position and re- 
sponsibilities, the eye of mind is quickened with a 
stronger vision, and we regard the duties of charity 
and benevolence, and the obligation of Christianity, in 
a clearer, fuller, and truer view. May we not then, 
without impropriety, regard the disasters to which we 
have just adverted, as intended, in some degree, as 
admonitions ? Is it not well, at least, on the part of 
those who have escaped, or been spared any direct 
participation in the affliction, to show their feelings of 
gratitude, and their appreciation of obligation and 
duty, by contributing as abundantly as possible to 
the wants and necessities of the sufferers ? Here is a 
wide field for philanthropy. Our friends, our neigh- 
bors, have been prostrated by a sudden and over- 
whelming visitation. We have escaped. Our homes 
and our firesides are still protected. We are yet in 
the enjoyment, not only of the necessaries, but of 
many of the luxuries of life. But our brethren, citi 
zens of the same State, are suffering under a frightful 
misfortune. Now, therefore, is the opportune mo- 
ment for us to hasten to their assistance. Thus, we 
shall at once, not only show our sense of thankful- 
ness for blessings enjoyed, but our appreciation of 



STYLE AND DKESS. 387 

duty as members of a Christian community, and as 
believers in a faith that points to a resting-place, in a 
region where mortal calamity is unknown, and where 
life is not only eternal, but of unmingled bliss. 



"Dazzled a moment — failed and was despised." 

CIOME of our citizens are becoming alarmed, and 
KJ with reason, at the progress of modern extrava- 
gance. The age is evidently a fast one, and in many 
respects. The old-fashioned notions of our fathers, 
their moderate habits and economical principles, are 
ridiculed and laughed at. The few, moreover, who 
attempt to imitate them now, are regarded as niggardly, 
narrow-minded, and behind the time. The puzzle, in- 
deed, is to discover how a large portion of the would-be 
fashionables contrive to live. Extravagance is the 
order of the day. Palace-like residences and elegant 
furniture are now considered as among the essentials. 
Twenty or thirty years ago, and the case was widely 
different. Then a neat dwelling, ueatly furnished, was 
all that was required by new beginners. Young 
couples, when entering into the holy state of wedlock, 
were quite satisfied with the comforts of life, and paid 
but little attention to the superfluities. The policy 
pursued by them, was to live within their means, and 
thus gradually to acquire a pecuniary independence. 
A house that rented for two or three hundred dollars 
U 



388 STYLE AND DRESS. 

a year was all-sufficient. The furniture, too, was se- 
lected accordingly. And thus, an income of a thou- 
sand dollars a year was every way adequate to keep 
up a genteel and respectable appearance. But what a 
change has since taken place! The fact simply is. 
that many of our young men are deterred from matri- 
mony, because of the extravagant ideas of the gentler 
portion of creation. Two great objects seem to be 
aimed at — style and dress. A dashing establish- 
ment is the first essential, and then silks and satins, 
bonnets and shawls, at a co^t of hundreds of dollars 
per annum. Can we wonder at occasional misunder- 
standings at home, domestic scenes, and even bank- 
ruptcies, under these circumstances? The fond hus- 
band is compelled to do one of two things, either to 
impair his credit or to check his wife's extravagance. 
If he lack the nerve for the latter, the former will be 
inevitable. The better plan is to tell the whole truth, 
and at the earliest opportunity. A sensible woman 
will then govern herself accordingly. It often happens 
that husbands mislead and deceive their wives. They 
pretend, from a sense of false pride, to be worth more 
than they really are, and thus they induce expendi- 
tures which otherwise would be avoided. The woman 
who, after being informed of the real facts, still rushes 
on recklessly and blindly, proves herself false to her 
position and her duties. This is especially the case, 
if her husband be confiding, affectionate, and yet in 
moderate circumstances. We always regard it as a 
bad sign, to see a young couple beginning the world 
as if they had an income of thousands, when in fact 
they tave a fortune yet to realize. ''Make haste 
rlowly ! ' is an apothegm that is full of meaning. Not 



STYLE AND DRESS. 389 

a few young persons suppose that they should start 
where their fathers left off. In other words, that they 
should commence life as if they had been toiling on 
for years, and had been eminently successful. How 
much better to extend their operations gradually, to 
increase their comforts and enjoyments as they increase 
their resources ; instead of beginning with a dash and 
a display, only to fall back, in the course of a few 
years, from the force of a stern necessity. Neverthe- 
less, too many of both sexes forget this homely phi- 
losophy, and bewildered with the fascinations of the 
moment, commence a career of life and a mode of 
living which must inevitably lead to disaster. The 
error is one .of the times. It is inculcated by our 
fashionable system. The almost universal desire is, 
to live for display, to excite admiration, to foment 
jealousy and envy. In brief, to dazzle the out-door 
world, without reference to economy, real comfort, 
and true integrity. How many are, at this moment, 
squandering in style and dress, funds that should be 
reserved for other purposes. Nay, how many, tempted 
and betrayed by the false system to which we have 
alluded, sacrifice character itself, in order to obtain the 
means whereby to adorn the person. The matron is 
satisfied with nothing less than silks and satins, and 
the maid follows her example. The mother, either 
vain herself, or vain of her children, is satisfied with 
nothing less than the most brilliant apparel, and her 
daughters, of course, follow in her footsteps. Thus, 
extravagance is inculcated on all sides. Fathers suffer, 
and young men are intimidated. If the latter reflect 
for a moment, they see that matrimony, under such 
circumstances, is certain ruin. Hence they avoid the 



890 THE CLOSE OF THE WEEK. 

perilous step, or they manifest a becoming firmness, 
by correcting the evil at the outset. This is no idle 
story, but the sober truth — truth, too, that will be 
recognized and appreciated by hundreds in our own 
community. We repeat — extravagance in dress, in 
furniture ; and in outward display generally, is one of 
the most serious evils of the present day. It is the 
curse of many a household, and it drives many an 
indulgent husband or parent to desperation, despair, 
and ultimate ruin. Mothers, wives, and daughters — 
we beg you to ponder upon these solemn facts. An 
elegant dress is very desirable, but it should never be 
secured at the cost of honor or of honesty ; at the 
sacrifice of the finer feelings of the human heart, or 
even of the humbler comforts of a happy family. 



W €lmt of % Uttk-Satobajj ligljt 



" At length his homely hut appears in view, 
Beneath the shelter of an aged tree. 
Th' expectin' wee things, toddlin' stacher through 
To meet their dad, in flickering noise and glee ; 
His wee-bit ingle blinkin' bonnilie, 
His clean hearth-stone — his thriftie wifie's smile, 
The lisping infant prattling on his knee, 
Does all his weary kiough and care begnile, 
And makes him quite forget his labor and his toil." 

WHAT vast multitudes of the human family look 
forward with agreeable anticipations to the close 
of each week! The toilers throughout the nations may 
be counted by millioDs. They are compelled to eat 



THE CLOSE OF THE WEEK. 391 

bread by the sweat of the brow. They go forth from 
day to day to their various avocations, often cheerful, 
buoyant and elastic in spirits ; but sometimes weary, 
feeble and depressed. And when, too, age steals on, 
with its decrepitude and care, — when the hair is whit- 
ened and the form is bowed — when there are many 
mouths to feed at home — when food, and raiment, and 
fire- wood are required — and when, too, as is often the 
case, sickness and death enter the abodes of the hum- 
ble and the poor, the fortunes of a mere laboring man, 
one who is compelled to depend upon the earning of 
each day for daily bread, may well be imagined as 
fraught with no little anxiety, solicitude, and appre- 
hension. To the independent or the affluent the mor- 
row has few cares, comparatively speaking. They look 
forward with confidence, and are only solicitous as to 
the most agreeable mode of passing their time. Every 
day is to them a holiday, and they are disturbed by 
few of the anxieties which are connected with the ne- 
cessities of existence. But not so the multitude who 
are dependent upon their sinewy arms and their phys- 
ical strength, and who are compelled to labor on from 
month to month, and from year to year, in a kind of 
ceaseless round of toil. Fortunately, the great major- 
ity of all such take the world lightly, nerve themselves 
to their various positions, and without pondering too 
deeply upon the time to come, its chances and changes, 
they laugh the hours away merrily and cheerfully, and 
indulge in the blessed philosophy of contentment ! In 
this country, moreover, and in several others, they 
have their many social enjoyments, their family 
festivals, their kindly companionships, and thus are 
often as happy, nay, more so, with their limited means, 



392 THE CLOSE OF THE WEEK. 

than many who are basking in the favors of Fortune 
and the sunshine of worldly prosperity. It is well 
that it is so. There must be a great variety of fortunes 
among the sons of men, and the wise policy is for each 
to adapt himself to his condition, to enjoy the comforts 
and the blessings that are within bis reach, and to in- 
dulge in no unnecessary murmurs because another ap- 
pears to be more prosperous or more felicitous in his 
worldly progress. But to all who are compelled to 
toil, who are doomed, as it were, by the necessities of 
position, the responsibilities of family, and the require- 
ments of every-day life, to go forth into the crowd on 
Monday morning, and to struggle on throughout the 
week — how reviving, refreshing and consoling must 
be the return of each Satueday night ! How many 
gentle associations are connected with that happy 
period, and the long and soothing repose of the ensuing 
Sunday ! For one night at least, sleep may be enjoyed, 
without any anxiety as to the toil of the morrow. The 
mind and the body may alike experience renovation, 
and nature, worn and exhausted, recover something 
of her wonted strength and her former elasticity. The 
family circle, too — how apt are the mother and the 
little ones to look for some peculiar mark of kindness 
and good- will, to seek for indulgence in the out-door 
world — some place of entertainment and enjoyment, 
or to mingle together in some innocent festivity at 
home ! It should be the duty of all who have influ- 
ence and position, who occupy a responsible station as 
the head of a household, who are looked up to and re- 
spected, to beautify and consecrate these delightful 
periods on the way-side of existence — these pauses and 
resting-places, on the hillside of life — these green and 



THE CLOSE OF THE WEEK. 393 

sunny spots in the journey of the world, by some act 
of kindness, gentleness, affection, and friendship. The 
close of each week should be brightened and beautified 
by some significant manifestation ; and thus it would 
be looked for longingly and lovingly, and turned to 
again and again in after- time, as a period touched with 
more than ordinary brightness, and gladdened and 
beautified by some peculiar charm. We have often 
looked with interest at the children of toil, as they 
have hurried home from their daily tasks, on a Satur- 
day afternoon or evening. A lighter step than usual, 
a brighter eye and a more cheerful spirit, are ever apt 
to characterize them. They feel that they have thrown 
by the implements of toil, and the anxieties of labor, 
for at least one day, and they look for a warmer wel- 
come at home, and a richer smile, for there are few 
who at such a season, do not bear with them some 
little tribute of affection, or are not prepared to mani- 
fest their generous and kindly feelings, by some gen- 
tle and becoming act. The laugh within the sacred 
precincts of the household, is ever more joyous on a 
Saturday night. It is, a period when the heart over- 
flows, when its natural impulses and instincts have 
full vent, and when neighborly visits and friendships 
are indulged and enjoyed, and many little courtesies 
are exchanged. It is, moreover, a prelude to the hal- 
lowed day of rest, a day when the working world 
ceases from its bustle and its din, and Nature — still 
calm and tranquil, seems to partake of that spirit ot 
peace and of religion which is so characteristic of most 
of the civilized nations of the earth. The close of tho 
week is indeed a period as well of thought as of 
feeling, a season to forget and forgive-— a moment 



394 THE HABIT OF INDUSTRY. 

admirably suited to adjust the harsh asperities and 
sharp collisions that have taken place — a calm and 
hallowed time, when families should indulge in inno- 
cent enjoyments, and all the ties that can unite hearts, 
hands, and affections, should be renovated, revived, and 
strengthened. 



#mtptimt 

"Bat parents, to their offspring blind, 
Consult not parts, nor tarn of mind ; 
But, even in infancy, decree 
What this, what th' other son shall be." — Gay's Fables. 

THE most unhappy members of society are the 
idle — or those who have no regular occupation, 
and no habit of industry. It has been well said that 
the " success of individuals in life is greatly owing to 
their learning early to depend upon their own re- 
sources. Money, or the expectation of it by inherit- 
ance, has ruined more men than the want of it ever 
did. Teach the young to rely upon their own efforts, 
to be frugal and industrious, and you will furnish 
them with a productive capital which no man can 
wrest from them, and one which they themselves will 
not feel disposed to yield. Inculcate a habit of indus- 
try in early years, furnish some regular course of em- 
ployment, either professional, mechanical, or artistical, 
and you will do two important things : — 

First — you will furnish your son with the means of 



THE HABIT OF INDUSTRY. 395 

livelihood, and hence of independence — and second, 
you will keep him from the ways of idleness, and, 
hence, from many of the temptations which surround 
the listless and unemployed. A regular occupation 
is all important. It is essential, as well for peace of 
mind as for worldly prosperity. Better, far better, to 
have a boy familiar with the humblest calling, by 
which he can at any moment earn an honest liveli- 
hood, than to have him apt, ready, agreeable, and 
witty, but at the same time indisposed, or unable, for 
want of the necessary application and information, to 
pursue a regular and positive occupation. A good 
trade, calling, or avocation, is far better for a young 
man than a small fortune. The former is an indepen- 
dence for life, or»so long as he enjoys mental and 
physical health ; while the latter may be squandered 
in a few years, and the chances are ten to one that it 
will be, unless habits of economy and industry are 
inculcated in early youth. The very anticipation of 
fortune by inheritance is a serious evil in many cases. 
It relaxes the character, enfeebles the power of self- 
reliance, induces apathy and indolence, and is too fre- 
quently the forerunner of vicious habits and all their 
evil consequences. Let a youth understand that he 
can get along in the world without a resort to his own 
powers of mind and of body, and he will take very little 
pains to qualify himself for the trials and temptations 
to which all are more or less subjected. But teach 
him the great lesson of self-reliance and self-depen- 
dence, and the virtue and energy of his character will 
very speedily be manifested. " ISTo rich man," says an 
eloquent divine, " no rich, man is safe who is not a 
benevolent man." We may add, that no young man 



396 THE HABIT OF INDUSTRY. 

is safe who lias not a regular occupation, some visible 
means of livelihood, which shall engage his head or 
his hands, interest his thoughts, his feelings, and his 
heart. 

Do all parents and guardians duly consider these 
plain, common- sense truths ? Do they remember the 
high responsibility which devolves upon them, as 
directors of the minds, purposes, and employments of 
the young ? Do they, when about to urge them to a 
particular business, consider the disposition and capac- 
ity, have reference to the future as well as the present, 
and endeavor to secure the selection of a path calcu- 
lated to lead to competence and prosperity, one in- 
tended for a lifetime and not for the hour, one chosen 
with a view to all the circumstances of the case, and 
without reference to vanity and pride? Alas! how 
many young men have wasted the greenness and 
flower of their lives upon employments for which 
they were never suited, which they never would have 
chosen, had they possessed the slightest knowledge of 
the world, and which they abandoned at the first 
favorable opportunity ! How apt are parents to de- 
sire to see their children merchants and wholesale 
dealers, who forget that, in order to occupy such po- 
sitions, they must either, in the first place, be pro- 
vided with a large amount of capital, or toil on for 
years, slowly and cautiously, devote themselves night 
and day to the principles of trade, and be remarkable 
not only for economy and energy, but for enterprise, 
tact, and judgment! How many, too, engage their 
sons as clerks in extensive establishments, forgetful 
that the chance must be a rare one, which will enable 
them, on attaining the age of manhood, to start in a 



THE HABIT OF INDUSTRY. 397 

like occupation for themselves ! The choice of an 
occupation is indeed a great, a grave matter. Laud- 
able ambition is every way desirable and commend- 
able. But the cases are so frequent in which a false 
pride induces an erroneous judgment, that we have 
thrown out these hints for the benefit of the vain, the 
thoughtless, and the indiscreet. The head of a family 
who has several sons, may, with propriety, vary their 
avocations; but it is egregious vanity, to say the 
least, in a father who has half-a-dozen boys, to sup- 
pose that they are all calculated to shine in the higher 
walks of literature, science, intellect, and commerce. 
That they are all endowed with extraordinary genius, 
and suited to 

" Climb 
The steep where Fame's proud temple shines afar." 

Such expectations are likely to end in bitterness and 
disappointment. The son, too, is often made the vic- 
tim. He imbibes notions of pride which unfit him 
for the humbler but not less honorable pursuits of 
life — fancies it a degradation to resort to a plain, sub- 
stantial, mechanical, or manufacturing occupation — 
sees a marked distinction between the merchant or 
professional man, and the mere trader or storekeeper, 
and drags on a miserable existence of poverty, pride, 
indolence, and unhappiness. Nay, submit to him 
some ordinary mode of livelihood, some calling that 
may be regarded as rather rough and unpolished, and 
he will turn from it with contempt. And, strange as 
the inconsistency may seem, he will rather be a de- 
pendent gentleman, than an independent tradesman or 
mechanic — rather flutter among the follies and frivoli- 



398 FORBEARANCE. 

ties of fashion, than mingle with men in a manly and 
energetic spirit. And there are many such in society, 
many pitiful apologies for the sterner sex, who havp 
been falsely educated — who have been nurtured with 
hopes and expectations never to be realized — who lack 
habits of industry — a positive and substantial occupa- 
tion, and yet fancy that they are genteel, and made 
of finer and purer material than that which constitutes 
the bone, sinew, energy, and character of the hardy 
sons of industry and enterprise ! Alas for the delu- 
sion ! It carries with it its own penalty. 



"Though justice he thy plea, consider this— 
That in the course of justice, none of us 
Should see salvation. We do pray for mercy 
And that same prayer doth teach us all to render 
The deeds of mercy. ' ' Shakspeare. 

nnHE disposition to pronounce judgment rashly, 
JL and not only to do this, but to carry out the de- 
cision by acts, is at once unwise, unfair, and unchris- 
tian. Human nature is, in its best condition, liable to 
err. We are all, more or less, the creatures of circum- 
stances, interests, prejudices, and passions. Fallibility 
is a portion of our lot and destiny. There is nothing 
perfect this side the grave. The man who to-day 
arrogates to himself high claims and merits for his 
self-denial, self-restraint, and unfaltering integrity, 
may to-morrow be subjected to some fiery ordeal, 



FOEBEAEANCE. 399 

some fearful temptation, and fall, never to rise again. 
Few of us know ourselves — know all our weaknesses 
and infirmities. It is only by adversity, by prosperity, 
or by being subjected to peculiar influences at peculiar 
times, that we are fully tried and tested. It is an easy 
thing to pass judgment upon another; to denounce 
this man because he has wandered from the paths of 
rectitude, and that because, in a moment of awful suf- 
fering, privation, and poverty, he faltered from the 
way of integrity and duty. It is, we contend, an easy 
thing for us to affirm, nay, to believe, that under similar 
circumstances we would have wrestled, resisted, and 
prevailed. But, we repeat, few know themselves; 
few see themselves as they really are ; few recognize 
the weaknesses of their own minds and hearts ; few 
are fully conscious of their infirmities of temper, of 
prejudice, of avarice, of vanity, of self-will. It is 
therefore that we earnestly urge the exercise of for- 
bearance and generosity, when speaking of the conduct 
of others. Nothing is more fallible than the human 
mind and the human heart. All are more or less 
influenced by causes and circumstances which they 
cannot rightly see, and therefore cannot appreciate. 
There is scarcely a reader who could not single out 
from his own immediate circle of acquaintances, some 
individual of plain personal appearance, awkward and 
ungainly manner, who nevertheless fancies that he is 
a perfect Adonis in face and form, and a Chesterfield 
in taste and refinement. The blindness and folly of 
such an error is at once amusing and humiliating. 
But in most cases it is incurable. So again, it often 
happens that an individual imagines that he is remark- 
ably apt, ready, and witty, when, in fact, he is pre- 



400 FORBEAPwANCE. 

cisely the reverse. Others may see the delusion, but 
he cannot. He is its victim ; his judgment is preju- 
diced, blinded, and it is likely to remain so for years, 
perhaps for life. • Who does not labor under some 
error of education, of circumstance, of prejudice, or of 
habit ? 

It is quite a common occurrence with many persons 
to become excited, when they hear the partial details 
of a trial for an alleged offence, and to express them- 
selves in the strongest terms of indignation — nay, to 
affirm that it is impossible for their views to change. 
And yet the whole story, both sides, may convince 
them that they sadly misjudged in the first case. 
They then are quite as eager to recant as they at first 
were to condemn. They, at least, are disposed to 
qualify their former opinions, and to admit that they 
were rash and hasty. Alas 1 that these cases are so 
frequent — that so many "jump at conclusions," and 
pronounce judgment without reference to all the facts 
and circumstances. The sacred precept of " Do unto 
others as ye would they should do unto you" is vio 
lated or forgotten. Few stop to inquire, few address 
to themselves the query, " Were I so circumstanced, 
how would I act ? Had / been subjected to the same 
vicissitudes, trials, and temptations, what would have 
been my course?" But even supposing that moral 
training, a fair education, habits of integrity and 
sobriety, would have enabled us to resist, should we 
not, before arriving at a decision, ascertain whether 
the unfortunate, upon whose case we are about to pro 
nounce judgment, enjoyed equal advantages and priv* 
ileges — and if not, should we not manifest forbearance 
and liberality ? Man is too disposed to deal harshly 



FORBEARANCE. 401 

with liis fellow-creature. "We are too inclined, by a 
strange perversity of our nature, to crush the fallen 
rather than to encourage, sustain, and recall to the 
ways of well-doing. We affect a sympathy, and yet 
we fail to act out the generous feeling. We deplore 
the misfortune, regret the error and the downfall, but 
we do not step forward and extend the hand of assist- 
ance. We denounce, pass judgment rashly, and thus 
fail to make allowance for the infirmities of poor 
human nature, for poverty, for ignorance, for trial, for 
temptation, and the many other circumstances calcu- 
lated to influence the character and the case. Beware, 
gentle reader — beware of rash judgments. Act a 
generous part toward the erring and the frail. Thank 
the Almighty for the blessings you enjoy, the tempta- 
tions you have resisted, the calamities you have 
escaped ; and remember that watchfulness is not only 
necessary, watchfulness against the evil principle of 
the human heart, but a constant reliance upon the 
Great Disposer of human events. Let us forget or 
disregard our dependence upon the Deity — let us 
mock at and deride the power unseen, but constantly 
above and around us, and we will soon wander into 
the wrong path, hesitate, falter, and fall. 






Jrogttj; ra, % jjtrils of % Jfbt Jfak 
Step. 

" Most dangerous 
Is that temptation that doth goad us on." 

"T"¥7"E but a short time since had occasion to com- 
h ment upon the sad case of several London 
bankers, who misappropriated funds confided to their 
keeping, were tried, convicted, and sentenced to trans- 
portation. A still more melancholy case recently oc- 
curred, in which a member of the British Parliament, 
John Sadlier, who for many years was identified with 
several of the leading monetary enterprises of the city 
of London, committed suicide under circumstances of 
the most painful character. He was in the vigor of 
manhood, when, in consequence of an accumulation of 
forgeries, life became a burden to him, and he de- 
stroyed himself by taking poison. He was a bold 
speculator, and dealt largely in continental railways, 
mining undertakings and stock movements of various 
kinds. He was a director in a prominent bank, en- 
joyed great influence, and was much respected. But 
in the chances and changes of the monetary world, he 
become a fearful loser, and in an evil hour was tempted 
to commit forgery. This first false step was followed 
by others, until at last he was bankrupt, having not 
only lost his own private property, which at one time 
amounted to upward of a million dollars, but involved 
(402) 



FORGERY. 403 

in difficulty many of his friends. The error, in this 
case, was like that of many others — the first FALSJS 
step. It is probable that Sadlier, when he realized to 
their full extent the embarrassments by which he was 
surrounded, fancied that he could retrieve himself by 
obtaining a few thousand pounds temporarily, and 
hence he resorted to forgery. From that moment he 
hurried on with the wildest desperation, until at last 
the aggregate of his frauds, in this way, amounted to 
five millions of dollars. Then it was that the wretched 
man saw the abyss before him, became terrified at the 
shame and horror which he had provoked, and unable 
to confront the stern eye of the law, as well as the 
hundreds of innocent families, whose ruin he had 
caused, he chose the death of a suicide, and perished 
accordingly. The frauds of Sir John Strahan and his 
partners had scarcely been forgotten, when this new 
mass of tangled iniquity startled the public mind and 
the public heart, and appalled, not only the great 
monetary mart of the British metropolis, but thrilled 
with anxiety and apprehension every leading Bourse 
on the European continent. 

It has been observed, " that this case is but another 
of that kind which has abounded within recent years, 
in which the criminal at first steps barely over the line 
which divides right from wrong, and with the intention 
to hasten back as soon as he has saved himself from 
the loss of property and reputation. But the act at 
which he shudders does not save him, and still trem- 
bling and afraid, he repeats it with the same result. He 
plays a larger stake of crime, and again he loses ; he 
cannot retrace his steps without confessing to some 
one an error for which but a short time before he 
25 



404 FORGfERY. 

would have condemned his brother ; and so onward 
he goes in a course which presently becomes headlong, 
and reckless of all consequences except those which 
follow detection, until finally, tempted by his impunity 
into courses which lead to inevitable detection, he sees 
moral annihilation before him, and if he be a man of 
strong nature, dies ; if feeble, hides himself in miserable 
obscurity." 

The first false step is the fatal one, in almost every 
species of crime, and in none more so than that of 
forgery. The very success, or apparent success, induces 
confidence and hardihood, and the infatuated wretch 
moves on, involving himself still more deeply, persuad- 
ing himself that ail is concealed, deluding himself that 
he will still escape, and yet adding crime upon crime 
to the heavy burden that must ultimately overwhelm 
and destroy him. It should be remembered, too, that 
high position and abundance of means sometimes pro- 
duce a degree of false pride that becomes a sort of in- 
sanity, and leads to habits of expenditure and extrav- 
agance, from which it is impossible to recede without 
exposure, loss of credit, the suspicion of lookers-on, 
and all the deplorable consequences. Only a short 
time has gone by, since a resident of a neighboring 
city informed us that he had been ruined by accepting 
a very lucrative public office. He occupied it but a 
single year ; and at the expiration of his brief term, he 
found that he had been living beyond his means, even 
with his increased revenue, and thus, in the end, had 
lost his old-fashioned habits of economy, as well as the 
regular occupation which before had provided him 
with all the comforts of life. It is indeed more diffi- 
cult to resist temptation than most persons imagine. 



FORGERY. 405 

A change of fortune is not always attended with good. 
Old habits cannot be interfered with but at great risk. 
And when, too, an individual once gives way to any 
unhealthy excitement, whether it be of gambling, of 
drinking, of extravagance, or of false pride, the perils 
are fearful. There is, moreover, ever at the elbow of 
the irresolute and the excited, an evil spirit that 
prompts some dangerous expedient, with the object 
alike of misleading and betraying. It is this that 
should be resisted. It is this subtle demon whose 
counsel should be disregarded. But in the case of the 
wretched felon and suicide to whose miserable end we 
have adverted, he listened to the voice of the tempter, 
he believed the hollow promises, he relied upon the 
mocking delusion, and he became a victim ! So sad a 
tragedy should not be without its moral and its admo- 
nition. There are few who are not tempted at times. 
The paths of life are full of shoals and quicksands ; the 
ways of" trade and commerce are beset with pitfalls ; 
and in moments of emergency, it requires more than 
ordinary moral courage to resist and turn away. But 
there is safety in no other course. Nay, he who hesi- 
tates is lost. There is but one policy and one path 
for the Merchant, the Banker, the Attorney — nay, for 
all who wish well to themselves, and who desire t<? 
live correctly and die respected. That policy involves 
the strictest integrity, and that path is direct, truth 
ful, and characterized by unwavering honesty. 
2o 



JtMffiig. 



" No bribe could make him falter— there he was, 
Firm and reliable." 






WE know of nothing that is more important as 
as an element of character, than keliability — • 
and this in small matters as well as in great — in the 
trifles of life, as well as in its more serious concerns. 
There is scarcely an individual who pays the least at- 
tention to human nature and its developments, who 
looks observingly upon the progress of society, who 
watches the chances and changes that take place in 
the fortunes of his friends and neighbors, who will 
not become impressed with this truth. The reliable 
man, whether young or old, is a moral jewel; while 
the unreliable, who never can be depended upon, who 
is ever at fault, and always behind time, soon becomes 
a comparative nonentity, and is not only disregarded 
and distrusted, but is absolutely avoided. This policy, 
moreover, is essential to self-defence. We allude as 
well to reliability of speech as reliability of conduct. 
Who, for example, cannot point out some mistaken, 
misguided, unfortunate or vicious member of society, 
who rarely speaks the truth. He has contracted a 
habit of exaggerating or falsifying, and thus, either 
in jest, or from a vicious propensity, he seems to de- 
light in misleading, misrepresenting, and often calum- 
niating. The result is, that he soon becomes known, 
and his statements, even when correct, are treated 
(406) 









RELIABILITY. mfp 

with indifference or contempt. He cannot be trusted, 
for he is not reliable. He is void of that invaluable 
principle — veracity. This, in the ordinary affairs of 
the day, and in the movements of the social circle. 
But how much more serious is such a defect in the 
graver matters of business, and when transactions of 
the utmost importance are involved ! Among Mer- 
chants, Bankers, Attorneys, and Journalists, and in- 
deed in every responsible or elevated calling, relia- 
bility is one of the great essentials. 

The individual who makes an engagement is ex- 
pected to fulfill it. If he stipulate to attend at a cer- 
tain place at a certain time, he, of course, should be 
there. If he effect a loan, promising to return it on 
a designated day, he should tax all his energies to re- 
deem his obligation, and thus to verify his word and 
maintain his character. A few transactions of this 
kind are sufficient, with the cautious and experienced, 
to enable them to decide upon the integrity, the pro- 
bity, and the principles of the man. A single failure 
will, perhaps, be overlooked, especially if a sufficient 
cause be assigned. But, if the offence be repeated, 
and then prevarication and falsehood, as is almost in- 
variably the case, be added, he will thereafter, and 
naturally enough, be distrusted. Some years since, 
two citizens of Philadelphia, who had long been on 
intimate terms, entered into a joint speculation. Each 
contributed the same amount ; but one undertook to 
manage the operation from the first to the last. The 
result was profitable; but it so happened that the 
manager appropriated to himself a larger share of the 
gains than was strictly his due. He did so, too, 
stealthily, and without informing his colleague of the 



408 RELIABILITY. 

fact, who became acquainted therewith by the merest 
accident. He said nothing upon the subject at the 
time ; but he felt surprise as well as regret. A few 
months after, another opportunity was presented — an 
opportunity by which, in all probability, thousands 
of dollars would have been realized at an inconsider- 
able risk. But the manager in the former case could 
not raise the means, and hence he applied to his for- 
mer friend and colleague. The latter hesitated ; and 
on being pushed for an explanation, frankly stated 
that he " had been deceived in the former case, and 
he could not, and would never rely upon the same 
individual again." The charm of confidence had been 
broken. In the first case, the sum involved was a 
comparative trifle; but still it illustrated the charac- 
ter and indicated the principle. The petty deceit by 
which a few dollars were realized, showed that the 
inducement was sufficient to cause a departure from 
the strict line of integrity and honor, and hence the 
inference was plain, that a stronger temptation might 
lead to a still more direct violation of confidence and 
trust. And thus it is, that the little things of life in- 
dicate the reliable and the unreliable, and become, in 
fact, infallible tests of character. A short time since, 
a young man made application to a merchant in this 
city, for a situation that, was then vacant, and he re- 
ferred to two individuals, his teacher, when a boy, 
and his first employer immediately after he had fin- 
ished his education. Both agreed upon one fact, viz. : 
that in all things the youth was reliable ; that he 
might be depended upon, both in word and in deed ; 
that this was his great merit, and with him it was 
not only a habit, but a principle and a mattei of con- 






MORAL SUICIDE. 409 

science. The merchant had not before tnought very 
deeply upon the particular quality of reliability ; but 
he at once became impressed with its importance, and 
the applicant was not only accepted, but he soon won 
for himself the esteem and confidence of his em- 
ployer. But we could cite numerous illustrations. 
Reliability is not only a virtue and a grace, but it is 
one of the essentials of reputation and success. A 
man may be gifted, accomplished, energetic, and able 
in many points of view, and yet, if not reliable, he is, 
comparatively speaking, of little or no value, and in 
moments of emergency he never will be sought for, 
or depended upon. In fact, he is nothing more than 
an unstable trifler, who sports not only with his own 
character, but with the time, the feelings, and the for- 
tunes of others 



Pool j&ritito; % Stotral JMitals anh 
fate Smra. 

"The song, the dance, the midnight hour, 
With pale Consumption hovering hy." 

A SERIOUS evil of the- times may be referred to, 
in the manner in which many social parties are 
conducted in all the great cities of the Union. They 
commence about nine o'clock in the evening, and con- 
tinue until two or three in the morning. In the olden 
time, these late hours were adopted pretty much by 
the exclusives of fashionable life, or those who had 



410 MORAL SUICIDE. 

abundant leisure, and no regular occupation. Their 
great object was to kill time ; by night as well as by 
day ; and thus, if they returned to their places of 
abode, even long after daylight, they could sleep with 
impunity till mid-day, or even later. But more 
recently, the system has become almost universal ; and 
a young man, whose fortune is yet to be made, must 
do one of two things, either abandon all social festivals 
of the kind referred to, or neglect his business. The 
effect upon health is also deleterious. Regular sleep 
is quite as essential as regular meals. Neither can be 
dispensed with but at great risk to the physical con- 
stitution. Nevertheless, not only young men, but fair 
and fragile females, especially during holiday seasons, 
remain up, time after time, till long after midnight — 
often become heated and excited, then rush into the 
cold air, and perhaps encounter the rigors of a wintry 
storm. Can we wonder at colds, coughs, consumption, 
and even death under these circumstances ? Many a 
fair creature has sacrificed her health, nay, even her 
life, to the absurdities of fashion, and especially to the 
exhausting system of midnight social festivals. We 
say midnight, because they rarely get fully under way 
before twelve o'clock. Parents, too, are sadly at fault. 
They see the evil, and they recognize its deplorable 
effects, but they lack the moral courage to attempt a 
reform. Fashion is the despot which controls and 
rules them ; and they dare not run counter to either 
its follies or its demands. We some days since heard 
a mother complain bitterly, because her only son did 
not return home from " a dashing party," as he de- 
scribed it, until two o'clock in the morning, while, in 
the very next breath, she announced with a glow of 









MORAL SUICIDE. 411 

exultation, that her cherished and only daughter had 
just been invited to participate in a similar entertain- 
ment the next evening. She knew that the son was 
compelled to rise early in order to be at his place of 
business in time, and she felt that he must suffer for 
the loss of sleep. And yet she could not, or would 
not see, that her daughter must, of necessity, be 
escorted and attended by some other young gentleman, 
and with like effects upon his mind, body, and habits. 
It is the system that is wrong ; and we earnestly appeal 
to some of those who have influence in social life and 
fashionable society, to attempt a change. If the facts 
could be ascertained, hundreds of victims would be 
discovered among both sexes. We are aware that 
Fashion is a tyrant, and that it is almost impossible 
to effect any modification in a matter of this kind. 
But the evils produced are so numerous, and the folly 
of the system is so glaring, that we indulge a hope 
that some sensible person or circle, will at last be pre- 
vailed upon to introduce some amendment. Only 
yesterday, a friend informed us that several members 
of his family had recently been invited to attend a 
musical soiree at the house of a neighbor, and an inti- 
mation was given at the same time, that it would not 
commence until nine o'clock ! The result was, that 
they did not return until long after midnight, and 
then the festival was only at its height. But there is 
probably not a citizen in the community who does 
not recognize this condition of things, and deplore it. 
He feels the evils in his own household, and in the 
necessity which it sometimes imposes, in order to re- 
spond to the courtesies of friends, to follow himself in 
the wake of others ; and thus he occasionally discovers 



412 MOBAL SUICIDE. 






that at two or three o'clock in the morning, he is a 
mile or two from home, after having been subjected 
for hours to the heated atmosphere of a crowded 
parlor. Nay, such is the keenness of competition, and 
the folly of false pride, that many persons who assume 
to be extremely fashionable, linger until the latest 
hour before they make their appearance, and thus 
enter the room at midnight, or when, in fact, the com- 
pany should be about dispersing. Our bills of mor- 
tality 'announce, every week, a fearful story. We are 
told, moreover, by one of our most distinguished 
physicians, that at least one-half of those who are 
summoned to their last account, die from diseases that 
might be avoided by the exercise of even ordinary 
prudence. But with a climate like ours, with our 
mothers, sisters, wives, and daughters wearing thin 
shoes and silk stockings, and exposing their heads in 
bonnets that are such only in name, is it a matter of 
surprise that we should see pale faces and attenuated 
forms, hear so much of neuralgia, and gaze upon so 
many wrecks of youth and beauty ? Nay, theTe are 
thousands who every year sacrifice themselves upon 
the altars of fashion and of folly, and thus in fa . com 

wh MOEAL SUICIDE. 



|)asaon ai& Jjwpfob. 

"The rash of speech are often rash of hand." 

* * T7"N0W thyself, 1 ' is the apothegm of an ancient 
XV. sage. Snch knowledge is indeed important, 
for there are few who are not afflicted with passions 
and prejudices, and thus at times cannot control their 
speech and govern their conduct. The great majority 
of the errors and crimes that are perpetrated through- 
out the world, are attributable, in some degree, to 
temporary excitement. " Madness rules the hour," 
and its consequences are often fearful. There is, in- 
deed, scarcely an individual, however calm and well 
poised in a mental point of view, who at times does 
not find himself giving way to passion and prejudice, 
and thus in fact becoming temporarily insane. It is 
at such moments that all sorts of indiscretions are com- 
mitted. Harsh expressions are employed, friends are 
insulted, kindly hearts are lacerated, and feuds are 
fomented that continue on for years. The sober second 
thought soon returns, and reason resumes her sway — 
but then how difficult it is for poor human nature, 
the creature of selfishness and false pride, to make 
prompt and ample reparation. The tendency rather 
is, to excuse the error, and to charge the difference 
upon the individual injured. Who that looks through 
society with an intelligent eye and inquiring mind, 
cannot point out dozens of individuals, who are abso- 

(413) 



414 PASSION" AND PREJUDICE. 

lutely consuming themselves by unnecessary excite- 
ment ! Some are so absorbed in political affairs, that 
they have no thought for their regular avocations or 
the ordinary duties of life. They persuade themselves 
that they have suddenly become of extraordinary im- 
portance and possess paramount influence, and thus 
they run from door to door, inculcating their peculiar 
views, denouncing all who happen to differ from them, 
and often to the neglect of affairs that are essential to 
their future prosperity. They are to all intents and 
purposes monomaniacs, and are mad for the time. 
They have become so identified with a particular 
course, that they can see no merit in any other, but 
on the contrary, believe all to be knaves or fools who 
hold views or sentiments which are adverse to theirs. 
But there are various kinds of excitement to which 
the credulous, the eager, and the impulsive are liable. 
All more or less abound with peril. Ever and anon 
some enthusiastic individual fancies that he has made 
a great discovery in morals, in science, in manufactures 
or in commerce. Soon all his faculties are absorbed 
in the one great idea. He devotes his whole existence 
to it. He can neither think nor talk of any thing else. 
By day and by night, the dream agitates and perplexes. 
In one case in a thousand the anticipation is realized ; 
whereas, in the vast majority, disappointment, vexa- 
tion, anxiety, and ruin, are the deplorable consequences. 
It is the theory of a distinguished philosopher, who 
has paid much attention to the human mind, that " one 
engrossing idea is always dangerous." It is apt tc 
disturb the mental equilibrium, and thus to unfit and 
disqualify the zealous and the enthusiastic, no mattei 
how gifted, for the ordinary pursuits of life. Thus it 



PASSION AND PREJUDICE. 415 

is that so many who are admitted to possess a genius 
for some particular art or profession, are common- 
place or worse, in every other phase of human knowl- 
edge or intellectual research. The one idea has ab- 
sorbed every other. The one devoted and untiring 
application has taken away all interest for the common 
things of life, and thus rendered the zealot a child, 
comparatively speaking, in the ways of trade, com- 
merce, business, and the world at large. But scarcely 
a week goes by, in which we do not behold some sad 
illustration of the perils of excitement. The individual 
who is ever ready to adopt any new ism or doctrine 
that is started, whether in politics or religion, whether 
as relates to the material or spiritual world — who does 
not reflect quietly and calmly, but jumps at a conclu- 
sion, so to speak, and at once becomes a monomaniac 
upon the subject — is ever in danger of having his 
mind disturbed, if not destroyed, and of thus being re- 
duced to a truly lamentable condition. We should 
endeavor not only to know ourselves, but to govern 
ourselves. All have passions and prejudices, and all 
are therefore liable to forget themselves in some 
moment of temporary excitement. Who, indeed, can- 
not turn to such cases of forgetfulness ? Who, even 
among the wisest and best, are not compelled occasion- 
ally to look back with sorrow and regret upon some 
incident of their lives, when they became suddenly ex- 
cited, and said or did that which they must deplore to 
the end of their days. Alas ! for the wretched victims, 
who have involved themselves still more deeply in 
error or guilt, and who, in some hour of excitement, 
have perpetrated acts, perhaps of bloodshed and of 
death, and would now give worlds if they possessed 



416 THE HAPPY MEDIUM. 

them, fully to atone. Again, therefore, we exclaim, 
gentle reader — Beware! beware! Excitement is the 
atmosphere of peril and of crime. 



f% gaps llebhrot 

" Each according to his means." 

WE some days since heard an individual censure 
another very bitterly, for what he described as 
a frightful piece of extravagance. It consisted in 
building an elegant private mansion, at a cost of 
twenty thousand dollars, and furnishing it at an addi- 
tional cost of five thousand. Some inquiry was made 
as to the means of the party found fault with, and they 
were conceded to amount, in the aggregate, to half a 
million of dollars, or an annual income of thirty 
thousand, even at the regular rate of interest. His 
family, too, is quite small, consisting only of a wife 
and daughter, the latter yet in her teens. The com- 
plaint, under the circumstances, struck us as captious 
and unfounded. Extravagance, according to our idea, 
consists in expending prodigally, foolishly, recklessly, 
and beyond our means. If, for example, the individual 
in question were actively engaged in business, with a 
limited capital employed in his peculiar avocation, and 
thus realized merely enough to maintain his family in 
ease and comfort, the erection of such a modest palace 
should indeed be regarded as an excess, an act of folly 



THE HAPPY MEDIUM. 417 

and imprudence. But his position is one of perfect 
independence, in a pecuniary point of view, nay, of 
undoubted affluence. He can live in the style pro- 
posed, and yet within his income. In building, more- 
over, he assists in improving the particular neighbor- 
hood of his proposed place of residence. He gives 
employment to a number of mechanics and day-labor- 
ers, and he consumes a large amount of the products 
of industry. His wealth, therefore, in some sense, 
becomes a public blessing. It is diffused throughout 
the community. It encourages and rewards tact, 
talent, and labor, and it is expended and employed 
wisely. How much better this plan than that of the 
narrow, the selfish, and the miserly ! The rich, who 
are perpetually striving to accumulate a little more, 
who cling to money as a god, and who part from it 
with reluctance, even on the verge of the grave, are 
unworthy recipients of the bounties of Providence. 
They are faithless stewards. They have prospered, 
and the results are selfishness and ingratitude. None 
respect them while living, and few mourn for them 
when dead. Even their heirs-at-law, from whom they 
withhold the means of generous livelihood, wait with 
impatience, and feel relieved when the dread messen- 
ger of death calls away the avaricious and mercenary 
spirit. No — the rich are bound to be generous. It 
is their duty. They should expend their surplus 
means freely. They should assist and encourage, not 
only the unfortunate, but the meritorious. They 
should seek out the children of genius who languish 
in the shade, and by kindness and patronage warm 
them into life, and stimulate them into fame. They 
should not only be grateful to Providence for the 



418 THE HAfeY MEDIUM. 

i 

blessings poured upon them with so liberal a hand, 
but they should appreciate the condition of the equally 
meritorious, though the less successful of their fellow- 
creatures. This, we contend, is the policy, nay, the 
bounden duty of all who have been eminently favored 
,by fortune, who have not only enough, but to spare. 
Economy with such, or rather parsimony, would not 
only be an error, but a crime. There are, indeed, 
manv branches of art and manufacture, many trades 
and professions, that depend wholly or nearly so upon 
the rich. "What would our painters and sculptors, 
and the builders and jewellers do, but for this class 
of the community? How would the Fine Arts 
flourish, but through their agency ? Where would be 
our Temples of Music, our Halls of Science, and our 
Galleries of Taste and Fashion? Nay, many of the 
most extensive of our merchants and manufacturers 
have become so, either through the importation or the 
preparation of what are known as fine goods. The 
season is at hand, for example, when the affluent 
among our fellow-citizens are expected to exercise an 
extraordinary spirit of appreciation and generosity. 
It is right that they should do so. Such a course 
should be regarded as any thing but extravagant. 
But let us not be misunderstood. Economy is a 
virtue of the highest and most practical character; 
and the individual who indulges in expenditures be- 
yond his means, especially to the injury of others, not 
only commits an error, but perpetrates a dishonesty. 
The happy medium is, to live within one's income, and 
if possible, to save something at the end of each year, 
in the hope of thus gradually accumulating a pecu- 
niary independence. The poor may be extravagant 






BEGINNINGS OF CHARACTER. 419 

as well as the rich. And so, indeed, individuals in 
moderate circumstances. With the affluent it is a 
duty to assist and encourage industry, art, talent, and 
merit of every description. Fine furniture, elegant 
mansions, and costly equipages, are all well enough, 
if they can be afforded/ Nay, they are commendable 
under such circumstances. The error, however, with 
too many is, to attempt more than they can accom- 
plish ; or, in other words, to act and expend as men 
of fortune, without, in the first place, realizing or be- 
coming possessed of a substantial estate, or an ade- 
quate income. Too many commence life by expend- 
ing more than they earn, and then complain when 
they find themselves behindhand. " Cut your coat 
according to your cloth" is a common-place axiom, 
but it is full of worldly wisdom. 



legtmtwp of Cjjaraxta:, 

IT not unfrequently happens that young men dam- 
age themselves for life, or at least for many years, 
by what to them appear as trifling or unimportant 
errors. They violate the truth, form reckless associa- 
tions, and neglect positive engagements. Thus, at the 
very beginning, they impair confluence, excite sus- 
picion, and create distrust. Character is a jewel of 
priceless value, and yet it is easily impaired or tarnished. 
The young, generally speaking, do not appreciate its 
importance, because they lack experience, and know 
2G 



420 BEGINNINGS OF CHARACTER. 

but kittle of the world and its severity. An individual, 
for example, who is in the habit of repeating all sorts 
of wild and improbable stories, who boasts, exults, and 
magnifies, is at first looked upon with surprise and 
caution by the intelligent and discerning, and then, 
detected in some monstrous fabrication, he is distrusted 
and avoided. Thus, in an effort to appear what he is 
not, and to occupy a position to which he is not entitled, 
he destroys his character, and loses friends who other- 
wise would prove useful to him. 

The young and indiscreet do not appreciate the 
realities of life, but permit fancy and folly to mislead 
them ; they do not remember that character is, to a cer- 
tain extent, like an edifice that is intended not for a 
day or an hour, but for years, and hence its founda- 
tions should be of the best material. The advanced in 
life are, perhaps, too severe and too critical. ' They do 
not make sufficient allowance for the indiscretion, and 
the impulses of youth. Hence they are often disposed 
to consider as vices what are in fact merely foibles — 
foibles, too, which might readily be modified and 
amended if not wholly cured. When, however, the 
habit of exaggeration and falsehood becomes so fixed 
that it forms a feature of character — when engagements 
are made, pecuniary or otherwise, without any inten- 
tion of fulfilling them, the reputation soon becomes 
damaged to so serious an extent, that it can never be 
redeemed or re-established. 

Not a few individuals among the young indulge in 
the error, that by extravagance of speech, recklessness 
of sentiment, and insolence of manners, they make them- 
selves important, and excite envy and astonishment. 
The mistake is a fearful one. The only feelings pro- 






BEGINNINGS OF CHARACTER 421 

duced among the sensible and observing are those of 
pity and contempt. If, in brief, a statement cannot be 
relied upon, because of the known habit of the person 
who makes it, to falsify and exaggerate — thereafter 
his career in life and society will be disreputable and 
downward, and at the most rapid rate. The beginnings 
of character cannot be too carefully attended to. Temp- 
tations beset the young on all sides. In the first 
place, they have to resist their own evil passions and 
weaknesses, as well as their inexperience ; and in the 
second, the evil associations with which society 
abounds, and the many allurements which pleasure and 
profligacy hold out. This is especially the case in 
great cities. The chief peril may be said to exist 
within the ages of eighteen and twenty-five. It is at 
that period that the character and the reputation are 
more fully developed than at any other. The habits 
then become fixed — the tone of the mind settled — the 
disposition regulated. But if a false step be taken and 
a false system be adopted, it will be difficult, nay, almost 
impossible to recover in after life. 

Only a short time since, a young man paid a visit 
to a neighboring city, as well for relaxation as for 
pleasure, Before he left the place of his abode, his 
standing was every way creditable. He had grown 
up under the eyes of watchful parents, had received 
a good education, possessed a fine mind, and was 
addicted to no vice. It so happened, that on the way 
he formed an acquaintance with a dashing man of 
the world as he described himself, who, in fact, was 
nothing more than a polished sharper and gambler. 
The youth was led on from step to step, until all his 
funds were exhausted, and he was compelled to write 
26 



422 BEGINNINGS OF CHARACTER. 

home to his parents for a sufficient sum to pay his 
hotel bill and passage back. Meantime he had been 
seen in one of the streets of New York partially 
intoxicated. Fortunately, he was recalled to a sense 
of propriety in time, but not before his character had 
received a shock, from the effects of which it took 
months of good conduct to recover. Naturally kind 
of heart and correct of deportment, he intended noth- 
ing of the sort, but was led on gradually by an evil 
associate. How many are ruined in a similar manner ! 
How many forget the little proprieties of life, commit 
some excess, and then discover to their mortification 
and shame, that they have disgraced themselves. The 
young cannot be too watchful. They cannot guard 
too vigilantly against bad habits and evil associations. 
They cannot be too careful to protect themselves from 
the vice of falsehood. Character, to many of them, is 
all they possess ; it is the only inheritance that has 
been left to them by their parents, and it should be 
cherished accordingly. No young man, who has a 
just sense of his own value, will trifle with his rep- 
utation. It should be as precious to him as the breath 
of his nostrils. But like the down of the peach, or the 
fragrance of the rose, when once gone it can never be 
replaced. According to the poet, " all's well that ends 
well ;" but there is seldom a good end that has not a 
good beginning. 



%\t Jiitcfclebge of (feperieno. 



1 Experience, joined with, common sense, 
To mortals is a providence." 

' He studied from the life, 
And in the original perused mankind." 



ACCOKDHSTG- to an ancient sage, " man only begins 
to appreciate the finite nature of his faculties, 
and the limited extent of his knowledge, when he 
totters on the verge of the grave." This is not very- 
flattering to our vanity ; but it is true, nevertheless, 
in a general and comprehensive sense. The young, 
especially if quick of thought, vivid of imagination, 
and ready of speech, are apt to fancy themselves supe- 
rior beings, and to suppose that they possess a degree 
of information every way adequate to discharge all the 
duties of life. Nevertheless, they have little or no 
knowledge by experience, and are thus, in fact, igno- 
rant of the springs and motives of human action, and 
of the thousand chances and changes which influence 
and control the events of human progress. They have, 
for the most part, no adequate idea of character and 
its value, of truth and its importance, and of integrity 
as a general rule of conduct. Of course there are 
exceptions, but they are rare. The young jump at 
conclusions. They do not pause to reflect. They 
have no antecedents as landmarks and guides, and 
they depend rather upon the imagination than the 
judgment. Thus they hasten on in any path that 

(423) 



424 THE KNOWLEDGE OF EXPERIENCE. 

has a fair and promising beginning, believe any story 
however preposterous, suppose that the friendships of 
the clay are to be perpetual, and only discover their 
error when they have been taught by the sad lessons 
of experience. Knowledge thus obtained is seldom 
forgot 1 ", 3n. It affects the individual, not only for a 
moment, but for all time to come. It enters into his 
heart, mind, and memory, and forms part of his char- 
acter. He soon discovers, after having lived a few 
years beyond the borders of youth, that his judgment 
is only beginning to ripen ; that his intellectual facul- 
ties have heretofore been in the germ, and that instead 
of being one of the wise ones of the earth, his 
opinions are crude and imperfect, and his information 
narrow, circumscribed, and unreliable. It is then 
that he begins to examine himself, to look round and 
investigate the various phases of society, to correct the 
errors in which he has so long indulged, and to realize 
the knowledge of experience. The world at once 
assumes a different aspect. The multitudes who con- 
stitute society are analyzed and measured. The wild, 
the reckless, and the indiscreet, are distinguished from 
the calm, the moderate, the prudent, and the reason- 
able, and causes are at once discovered why the former 
so often fail, and the latter so generally succeed. 
Many little incidents in earlier years are turned to 
and scanned with an inquiring eye, and then the folly, 
the self-conceit, the presumption, and the mistaken 
eagerness of that inexperienced period, are recognized 
and regretted. It is seen that then we acted compara- 
tively in the dark, that our mental eyes were but 
imperfectly opened, that fancy, and passion, and im- 
pulse ruled the hour, and that hence many and terrible 









THE KNOWLEDGE OF EXPERIENCE. 425 

mistakes were committed. Some of these, it may be, 
cannot be corrected, but others can, and they should 
be, with as little delay as possible. And thus life 
glides on, every year adding to our experience, and 
convincing us that we are finite beings, with limited 
faculties, and that even the wisest are full of error, 
passion, prejudice, and imperfection. But alas! for 
the misguided, self-conceited, and dogmatic, who, 
despite the lights of experience, persist in error, who 
will take nothing back, will make no acknowledgment, 
offer no reconciliation, admit no penitence, and accord 
no reparation. To live after this fashion, and in this 
spirit, is indeed to live in vain. There is not an 
individual of the millions who inhabit the earth at 
this moment, who is not occasionally guilty of error 
and indiscretion. It is the lot of human nature. All 
are imperfect. All are creatures of the dust. But as 
our minds ripen, and we become experienced in the 
ways of the world, we should govern ourselves accord- 
ingly, and not only recognize our own infirmities, but 
be indulgent to those of others. The young are, of 
course, passionate and impulsive, and they often speak 
and act rashly. Let them be adjudged, therefore, in a 
generous and merciful spirit. Time, the great chas- 
tener, will subdue and soften, while experience will 
teach lessons that can never be forgotten. When, too, 
we cannot depend upon ourselves, and feel that we are 
novices in any particular sphere, calling, or province, 
let us appeal to, and rely upon, the knowledge and 
experience of others. Such, especially, is the duty of 
the young. They cannot be supposed to understand 
human nature and the world as well as their seniors, 
and if they venture to act upon fancy and presump- 



426 FAME AND FORTUNE. 

tion, rather than upon mature judgment and the sober 
realities of life, the chances are a thousand to one that 
they will repent their conduct in sackcloth and ashes. 
Experience is often a severe, but it is ever a truthful 
and reliable teacher. 



Jante anb dorhrae; or, #tefclimg % 



ci* 



' ' With carious art, the brain too finely wrought, 
Preys od itself, and is destroy 'd by thought." 



THE case of Hugh Miller, the celebrated geologist, 
who recently committed suicide, is well calcu- 
lated to excite feelings of the deepest sorrow. His 
fate was truly a sad one. He possessed an extraordi- 
nary mind ; but gifted and capable as it was, he over- 
strained and over-tasked it, became insane for the 
moment, and committed the fatal act which hurried 
him into- eternity. He left behind him a brief letter 
to his wife, in which he said that u his brain was on 
fire," and that " a fearful dream was upon him." Fear- 
ful, indeed, for it maddened and induced him to place 
a pistol to his own breast. It appears that he had 
long been engaged on an elaborate work, entitled 
11 The Testimony of the Eocks." At this he had 
labored for days and months, and sometimes, indeed, 
until long after midnight. Thus, at last, his intellect 
gave evidence of disorder ; he became the prey of 



FAME AND FOKTUNE. 427 

strange fears, and fancied that his faculties were fail- 
ing him. It is stated that a few weeks before his 
death, the light was seen to glimmer through his 
window at an early hour in the morning, and that 
his untiring labor began to tell upon his mental 
health. "He had always been somewhat moodily 
apprehensive of being attacked by footpads, and had 
carried loaded firearms about his person. Latterly, 
having occasion sometimes to return to Portobello 
from Edinburgh, at unseasonable hours, he had fur- 
nished himself with a revolver. But now, to all his 
old fears as to attacks upon his person, there was 
added an exciting and overmastering impression that 
his house, and especially that museum, the fruit of 
so much care, which was contained in a separate 
outer building, were exposed to the assaults of burg- 
lars. He read all the recent stories of house robber- 
ries. He believed that one night lately, an actual at- 
tempt to break in upon his museum had been made. 
Visions of ticket-of-leave men, prowling about his 
premises, haunted him by day and by night. The 
revolver, which lay nightly near him, was not enough. 
A broad-bladed dagger was kept beside it, while be- 
hind him, at his bed-head, a claymore stood ready at 
hand. About a week before his fatal end, a new and 
more aggravated feature of cerebral disorder showed 
itself in sudden and singular sensations in his head. 
They came on only after lengthened intervals. They 
did not last long, but were intensely violent. The 
terrible idea that his brain was deeply and hopelessly 
diseased, that his mind was on the verge of ruin, took 
hold of him, and stood out before his eye in all that 
appalling magnitude in which such an imagination as 



428 FAME AND FORTUNE. 

his alone could picture it." And thus, at last, he 
corrected some proofs of his last volume, went to his 
chamber and took a bath, and then, no doubt, tor- 
tured, bewildered, and agonized by the horrid imagin- 
ings that had so lately beset him, he seized a loaded 
revolver, placed it to his breast, and was, in the twink- 
ling of an eye, as it were, in another world ! 

These facts, while painfully interesting, are well 
calculated to admonish. The human mind is a won- 
derful essence or faculty, and capable of extraordinary 
results, but at the same time it is one of the most 
delicate organizations, and readily disturbed, un- 
hinged, and deranged. It must not be trifled with — • 
it must not be over-tasked. All that is mortal is 
fallible, and nothing more so than the intellect. " Thus 
far" are we permitted to wander in our dreams and 
aspirations, " but no further." Thus much are we 
permitted to accomplish, and then, or thereafter, we 
proceed at a fearful peril. There are, moreover, more 
mental disorders than the thoughtless and superficial 
are apt to imagine. Not a few bodily diseases depend 
materially, if not wholly, upon the mind. The one 
greatly affects and influences the other. Man is a 
compound being, and the union of body and soul, of 
the physical and mental, is so singular as to be at 
once mysterious and incomprehensible. Nevertheless, 
there are hundreds, nay thousands, even among our 
own population, who are constantly overtasking them- 
selves in a mental point of view, and who are thus 
rushing to the grave. The absorbing idea with the 
multitude, is fortune. To attain it, they will sacrifice 
almost any thing. And when this passion becomes a 
leading and controlling one, it engrosses all the ener- 



FAME AND FORTUNE. 429 

gies, all the faculties, all the hopes of this world, and 
often endangers those of the next. In the case of the 
fated geologist, fame, or a desire to astonish and ex- 
cite the admiration of mankind, was, perhaps, the 
ruling passion. An exalted reputation had been se- 
cured, and the ambition was to enhance it, and render 
it still more dazzling. But alas, for the penalty ! It 
amounted to madness in the first case, and then to 
suicide. And thus, one of the wise ones of the earth, 
one who had astonished his fellow-men by the extent 
of his researches,, the clearness of his reasonings, and 
the beauty of his scientific illustrations, attempted too 
much, ventured too far, overtasked his faculties, and 
died by his own hand ! His, moreover, was an object 
intended for the common good. He endeavored to 
elucidate one of the deepest branches of modern 
science, and for the benefit of mankind at large. But 
there are many who pursue the same error of over 
effort, and with a spirit every way selfish and mercen- 
ary. They are worshipers of Mammon. They dedicate 
their energies to the god of gold. Life, they seem 
to think, has but one object — that of accumulation. 
Thus they toil on by night and by day, and become 
prematurely old and prematurely gray. They cannot 
pause to think. They have no time for recreation. They 
never get enough. Well and forcibly has it been ob- 
served in relation to all such, that " while the pursuit 
of wealth is in itself legitimate, it was never intended 
that we should concentrate to it exclusively all our fac- 
ulties. A fair portion of our time should be devoted 
to exercise, relaxation, and intellectual improvement. 
Without that, man is reduced to the condition of a mere 
animal drudge, on a level with the brute creation. It is 



430 HOME AND ITS HARMONIES. 

only by the proper exercise and cultivation of our in- 
tellectual and physical faculties, that we can hope to 
keep them in vigor, and thus fulfill the purposes' for 
which the Almighty has bestowed them upon us. 



Jomt rah its pmnonfo. 

"Affection, kindness, the sweet offices 
Of love and duty, are to all as needful 
As our daily bread." 

IN one of the most popular comedies of the day, an 
effort is made to depict the horrors of a cold, cheer- 
less, and heartless home — a home in name only; in 
brief, one that repels rather than attracts. We fear 
that there are many such within the limits of every 
great city — many domestic and family circles in which 
the demon of discord, or the foul fiend of an evil 
temper, is the presiding spirit — and thus, scenes of 
agitation and of anger are of constant occurrence. Is 
it a matter of surprise that the young and light 
hearted shrink and turn away ; that they escape when- 
ever they can — and that even the older members often 
seek some excuse for absence ? Alas ! for the poor 
wretch who is compelled to go through his daily round 
of toil in the out-door world — whether at the desk or 
in the highway — whether as the president or the run- 
ner of some leading establishment — who, on returning 
to bis hearth and household, trembles with apprehen- 
sion at " a scene," and from a consciousness that an 



HOME AND ITS HARMONIES. 431 

evil spirit — a jealous, a harsh, an unreasonable, or an 
exacting, presides there! That his welcome, instead 
of being kindly and affectionate, generous and cordial, 
is likely to prove cold and repulsive — severe and 
captious I And yet these temples of domestic disquiet 
are by no means rare. 

Forbearance and appreciation are priceless vir- 
tues—while CONFIDENCE and GOOD- WILL, COURTESY 
and kindness cannot be too sedulously cultivated with 
friends and relatives, and especially among members 
of the same household. It is, we concede, difficult at 
all times, and under all circumstances, to be cheerful 
and good-natured. The business world has its claims 
and anxieties, and all. are liable to private griefs. We 
may, moreover, experience some sudden disaster — be 
attacked by some painful malady — be annoyed by 
some falsehood or treachery, and hence feel depression 
of mind and irritation of disposition. And thus, while 
in a thoughtful and melancholy mood, how chilling is 
harshness, and how refreshing and soothing are gentle- 
ness, kindness, courtesy and affection, especially from 
those with whom we are pledged to associate and 
mingle from day to day. And if, on the other hand, 
we enjoy an exemption from the misfortunes and dis- 
advantages to which we have referred, how bound are 
we by generosity and by duty, to imagine that such 
troubles may afflict others who may seem to us less 
cheerful than they might be ; and how, therefore, in- 
cumbent upon us is it, to extend to them the same 
degree of support which would be so well appreciated 
by us under similar circumstances. There is nothing 
like kindness in the world. It is the very principle 
of V r e — an emanation of the heart which softens and 



432 HOME AND ITS HARMONIES. 

gladdens, and should be inculcated and encouraged in 
all our intercourse with our fellow- beings. It is im- 
possible to resist continued kindness. We may in a 
moment of petulance or passion, manifest coldness to 
the exhibition of good- will on the part of a new ac- 
quaintance. But let him persist — let him continue to 
prove himself really benevolent of heart, generously 
and kindly disposed, and we will find our stubborn 
nature giving way, even unconsciously to ourselves. 
If this be the result of kindness among comparative 
strangers, how much more certain and delightful will 
be the exercise of the feelings at home, within the 
charmed circle of friends and relatives! Home en- 
joyments, home affections, home courtesies, cannot be 
too carefully or steadily cultivated. They form the 
sunshine of the heart. They bless and sanctify our 
private circle. They become a source of calm delight 
to the man of business after a day of toil — they teach 
the merchant, the trader, the working-man, that there 
is something purer, more precious, even than the gains 
of industry. They twine themselves round the heart, 
call forth its best and purest emotions and resources, 
enable us to be more virtuous, more upright, more 
Christian, in all our relations of life. We see in the 
little beings around us the elements of gentleness, of 
truth, and the beauty of fidelity and religion. A day 
of toil is robbed of many of its cares, by the thought 
that in the evening we may return home, and mingle 
with the family household. There, at least, our ex- 
perience teaches us, we may find confiding and loving 
bosoms, those who look up to and lean upon us, and 
those also to whom we may look for counsel and en- 
couragement. We say to our friends, one and all, 



HAVE YOU MALE YOUE WILL? 433 

cultivate the home virtues, the household beauties of 
existence. Endeavor to make the little circle of 
domestic life, a cheerful, an intelligent, a kindly and 
a happy one. Whatever may go wrong in the world 
of trade, however arduous may be the struggle for 
fortune or fame, let nothing mar the purity of recip- 
rocal love, or throw into its harmonious existence the 
apple of discord. The winter evenings afford many 
hours for reading, for conversation, the communion 
of heart and spirit, and such hours should be devoted 
as much as possible not only to mental and moral im- 
provement, but to the cultivation of what may em- 
phatically be termed the home virtues! 



flak pa mabe grar Mill? 

"Be wise to-day." 

THERE are hundreds of individuals who, with 
large fortunes, and advanced in years, neverthe- 
less hesitate to make, by will, a proper distribution of 
their estates. They postpone from day to day, and 
from year to year, until at last sickness prostrates and 
death paralyzes, and thus the law is compelled to play 
its part. A few weeks since, a young gentleman from 
the South arrived in this city, who only a year before 
had attained his majority, and at that time became 
possessed of a large property. He was seized with 
sudden illness, when a physician was called in, who 



434 HAVE YOG MADE YOUE WILL? 



. 



announced, to the surprise of the few friends in 
attendance, that his patient could not live forty-eight 
hours. The young man was incredulous, but at last, 
through earnest solicitation, was prevailed upon to 
make his will, in which he gave a large portion of his 
property to his mother. A few hours after he died, 
and but for the will alluded to, his estate would have 
gone to distant relatives, and his mother would have 
been left comparatively poor. 

On another occasion, not lorig since, a citizen of 
Philadelphia, whose fortune amounted to nearly a 
quarter of a million of dollars, sent for an attorney 
and desired him to sketch out a will. The request 
was complied with, and bequests were made to various 
benevolent societies to the extent of one hundred 
thousand dollars. The rich man, however, was not 
quite satisfied, and thus he concluded to postpone the 
final act of his signature in the presence of witnesses, 
until some future day. This postponement was ex- 
tended from time to time, until at last Death became 
impatient, struck a sudden blow, and the will was left 
unfinished. Thus, the good intentions and benevolent 
purposes that the intended testator had cherished for 
years, failed of being carried into effect, in consequence 
of hesitation and delay. 

At this moment how many are pursuing a similar 
course ! How many have resolved to make some 
provision by will for a particular friend, a cherished 
relative, or a meritorious charity, but neglect to dis- 
charge the duty ! They mean to do it, honestly and 
conscientiously, but they prevaricate with themselves, 
if we may be allowed the expression; or foolishly 
fancy that the making of a w'll involves the short 



HAVE YOU MADE YOUR WILL? 435 

ening of a life. In brief, they are superstitious, and 
thus they are weak and irresolute. In other cases, a 
strange infirmity exists against the distribution of 
property, even by will. The feeling of avarice is so 
powerful, that the possessor persuades himself that he 
can retain his grasp upon his gold, even after the 
vital spark shall have parted from his frame. There 
is scarcely one individual in a thousand possessed of 
large means, or even of any considerable property, 
who would not rather have his estate, real and per- 
sonal, divided, on his decease, in a peculiar way. 
Heavy obligations that have been accumulating for 
life, may be thus canceled or requited. Old friends 
may be remembered, .early kindnesses may be recip- 
rocated, and priceless debts of feeling and affection 
may be acknowledged. The merest trifle, too, solemnly 
appropriated under such circumstances, has a meaning 
and a magic, and the gift that is received after the 
giver is cold and still in the embrace of Death, speaks 
with a soul- like, solemn voice, and as if from the 
depths of the grave itself. "He still remembered 
me I" is the natural exclamation. " I still held a place 
in his friendship, his affections, and his heart. He 
was apparently cold and indifferent when alive ; and 
yet, when he came to make his will, my image arose 
to the eye of his mind, and my name was recorded 
among the beings of his love." This is the language 
which is apt to be uttered under the circumstances we 
have described. How important, then, the solemn 
duty of defining, by will, the manner in which our 
property shall be distributed, when life shall be no 
longer. Alas ! for the many whose just expectations 
have been disappointed, whose fidelity and kindness 
2T 



436 THE RULE OF LOVE. 

have been unrewarded, whose hearts have been crushed 
by some sad neglect on the part of a parent, a relative, 
a guardian, or a friend. The courts of law abound 
with melancholy illustrations. Cruel wrongs have 
been perpetrated, property has been misappropriated, 
and life-long friends, whose condition might have been 
so greatly improved, have been left to languish in 
privation, want, and beggary. And yet, we repeat, 
there are thousands at this moment who have ample 
fortunes at their command, and who still neglect the 
sacred, the solemn, the imperative duty of making a 
will. In such a momentous matter, delay is indeed 
dangerous, for Death is no respecter of persons, but 
often steals upon his victims like a thief in the night I 



<% JUk of lok anb i\t gjtole rf Jfear. 

"To mould the soul and form the moral man." 

IT is extremely difficult to point out the best man- 
ner of training up the young. The kindest of pa- 
rents, the wisest of guardians, are sometimes sadly 
perplexed. The old adage, " Spare the rod and spoil 
the child," is voted as obsolete by most persons of the 
present day and generation. The rule of love is 
regarded as far more potent, in a general sense, than 
the rule of fear. This is on the principle that persua- 
sion is better than harshness, reasoning better than 
blows. And yet we are told by some of the most 
experienced teachers, men who are not only clear of 



THE RULE OF LOVE. 437 

head but benevolent in heart, that there are excep- 
tions, and that, in some cases, the most rigid, the most 
rigorous policy, is necessary. This is perhaps true. 
There are few rules to which there are not exceptions. 
There are few systems that must not be varied at 
times, and although, in the great majority of cases, a 
gentle reproof, a kindly rebuke, a persuasive appeal, 
will have far more effect than severe censure or 
physical punishment — there may be, and there doubt- 
less are, instances where the latter course is necessary. 
The modern philosophy, generally speaking, is that of 
kindness and gentleness. We should win the respect 
of our children, secure their confidence and deserve 
their love, and thus obtain an influence and a power 
over them that are almost invincible. But how shall 
this best be accomplished? How, if defective our* 
selves, either in temper or in mind, shall we so impress 
character, manners, and morals, upon the plastic na- 
ture of our offspring, as to render them obedient, 
affectionate, dutiful, and faithful to all their obliga- 
tions ? How, if we be peevish and fretful, if we give 
way to the bursts of passion and the madness of preju- 
dice, can we look for truth, sincerity, and affability in 
the creatures of our example ? How, if we meet them 
with reproaches, rebukes, and domestic despotism, can 
we inspire, frankness, sincerity, confidence, and love? 
These questions cover the whole ground. They define 
the relative duties between parent and child. The 
young are naturally imitative, and therefore, to them, 
example is every thing. Let us not be misunderstood. 
Let it not be supposed for a moment that we advocate 
the doctrine that children are naturally perfect, and 
that they require no watchfulness,, no vigilance, no 
27 



438 THE RULE OF LOVE. 

restraint. It is exactly otherwise. They must be 
taught first by example, and then controlled and 
restrained by the means best suited to their particular 
dispositions. In the great majority of cases, as already 
observed, by the gentleness of persuasion, the influence 
of love, and the power of reason. But when these will 
not avail, and are wholly disregarded, some more 
vigorous policy will be found absolutely necessary. 
It seems to us that the great error and its bitter fruits 
are to be found in the two extremes — over-indulgence 
in the one case, and excessive harshness in the other. 
In the first the child is permitted to grow up, reck- 
less, vicious, and disobedient, because of the want of 
proper restraints, and in the last he is rendered hypo- 
critical, revengeful, and malignant, in consequence of 
the domestic despotism of home. In the one case he 
is petted and spoiled, his errors are described as vir- 
tues, his forwardness as smartness, bis pertness as readi- 
ness and wit, and thus he is absolutely taught to be 
insulting, disobedient, and insolent. In the other, he 
is indirectly encouraged to become distrustful, watch- 
ful, deceitful, and all through the rule of fear, and to 
escape severe penalties for trivial errors at home. 
The proper policy lies between these two extremes. 
Children should be regarded as children, and treated 
as such. It is unfair and unnatural to expect in them 
the care, the gravity, the decorum, and the knowledge 
that can only be acquired by age, experience, and 
proper training; and while allowance is made for 
youth and its indiscretions, while the errors and in- 
firmities are pointed out and corrected, the other folly 
should be carefully avoided of commending when a 
rebuke is necessary, and applauding when a nod of 



THE RULE OF LOVE. 439 

dissent or a word of reproof would be far more appro- 
priate. And jet, after all, it is much easier to incul- 
cate a doctrine in this connection than to practice it, 
"We have known instances in which the kindest of 
parents, the most watchful, the most generous, and yet 
the most observing, have been sadly unfortunate in 
their children. They have resorted to every means, 
and in vain. They have adopted first one policy and 
then another, and only to be still further perplexed. 
At this moment, how many families in Philadelphia 
are pained to the very heart by the reckless and 
profligate conduct of one of their members, one, too, 
perhaps, who may possess many generous qualities, 
who may have had lavished upon him every tender- 
ness, expense, and care, and who yet, from evil asso- 
ciates, vicious habits, or an ungovernable temper, may 
be the constant source of anxiety and anguish ! Still, 
even with such, kindness is perhaps the best policy, 
for sooner or later, unless the heart be hard as ada- 
mant, and the principles base beyond redemption, it 
will eventually exercise its magic influence. This 
kindness should not, however, be indiscriminate, im- 
provident, and unassociated with gentle rebukes, mild 
appeals, and salutary restraints. It should be remem- 
bered that none are hopeless, and that there are times, 
seasons, and circumstances, when conviction flashes 
upon the mind, and with it a determination to amend, 
reform, and pursue the better and brighter way. Such 
a time, such a season, should be constantly sought for. 
There are prodigals in all ages and countries, and the 
touching parable of Holy Writ should never be lost 
sight of, nor its sublime yet gentle lesson of mercy 
and forgiveness ever be disregarded. 



%\t Siting nnir % §raK-41[)2 fflsiptt 
% duties of §mkka? 

TWO cases have recently been mentioned to us, 
which deserve to be alluded to by way of example. 
In one, a LADY was left a very large fortune by her 
husband, and the will included liberal legacies to 
various benevolent objects, that were to be paid after 
the death of the widow. But she, aged, infirm, and 
with abundant means, desired to participate directly 
in the kindly spirit of her husband, and thus she paid 
over the money while alive, and enjoyed the happiness 
of seeing it expended judiciously and with advantage. 
In the other, a LADY was left a large fortune by her 
husband — far more than she could expend — and feel- 
ing that she might yet live many years, she sought 
out and undertook the care of several orphans, and is 
now engaged in the generous work of bringing them 
up, educating and fitting them for useful positions in 
life. She thus has created a new source of interest in 
existence, and the evening of her life is softened and 
brightened by the discharge of a self-assumed mission, 
which is at once generous and humane. Conduct of 
this kind cannot be too warmly commended. 

The policy, too, of distributing surplus means before 

death, and of thus overlooking, to some extent, the 

manner of expenditure, should be more generally 

adopted by the affluent. Why postpone until to-mor- 

(440) 



THE LIVING AND THE DEAD. 441 

row, that which may be done so much better to day ? 
Why confide to other hands, a work of duty that 
might be discharged so much better by our own ? Why 
tempt the cupidity of heirs, the litigation of lawyers, 
and the many misapprehensions which almost invari- 
ably attend the distribution of property among stran- 
gers ? If, for example, Stephen Girard had, while 
alive, superintended the erection of his College for 
Orphans, how much money would have been saved, 
and what a source of consolation would have been af- 
forded to him by an occasional visit to the institution, 
and the gradual but beautiful development of the 
minds and hearts of the pupils ? Nay, his life would, 
in all probability, have been lengthened many years 
by such a course. The old fountains of feeling would 
have been freshened and replenished. A new interest 
would have been excited in the affairs of the world, 
and the mental as well as the physical man would 
have improved. At least we may so infer from the 
experience of others. The following passage from the 
" Diary of the late Amos Lawrence," is apposite in this 
connection, and embodies a lesson that deserves 
thoughtful consideration : — 

"I have been extensively engaged in business 
during the last two years, and have added much to 
my worldly possessions ; but have come to the same 
conclusion in regard to them that I did in 1818. I 
feel distressed in mind that the resolutions then made 
have not been more effectual in keeping me from this 
overengagedness in business. * * * Property ac- 
quired at such sacrifices as I have been obliged to 
make the past year, costs me more than its worth, 
and the anxiety of protecting it is the extreme of 
folly." 



442 THE LIVING AND THE DEAD. 

How many are at this moment ovekengaged in 
business ! flow many are, in fact, committing moral 
suicide by taxing their energies unnecessarily. How 
many are acquiring property at more cost than it is 
worth, deepening and increasing their daily toils and 
anxieties, with the grave but a few years in advance 
before them ? Their children, too, are impatient, and 
almost cherish a hope that Death will hasten his foot- 
steps, and thus afford them an opportunity of clutching 
a portion of the treasure that is hoarded with such a 
grasping and miserly tenacity. But with regard to 
Amos Lawrence, he distributed thousands and tens of 
thousands while he was alive ! And yet it will be 
seen by the language we have quoted, that he could 
not disengage himself from business, and that while 
he admitted that the wear and tear of mind incident to 
the most successful pursuits of trade and manufacture, 
involved a far greater sacrifice than any amount of 
profit he should realize, he still kept on ! There are 
hundreds at this moment pursuing a course equally 
unwise; but, unlike him, the majority refuse to dis- 
tribute their surplus means while alive, but have deter- 
mined to confide the discharge of certain acts of charity 
to those who may come after them ! An error — a sad 
error in many points of view ! There is a bound to 
human life, and it rarely extends beyond three-score- 
and-ten. Why, therefore, after having accumulated 
" enough and to spare" — enough for ourselves and our 
children, should we go on straggling, striving and 
exhausting the little energy that is left us, if, at the 
same time, we intend to make various generous and 
benevolent bequests, in our last will and testament ? 
Why not discharge the duty now? Why not give 



THE MORAL SENSE. 443 

while alive ? Why not distribute among our chii 
dren, to some extent at least, and at the same time a A 
minister to the relief of such of the suffering and the 
needy as are within our reach ? Why, in brief, post- 
pone until Death shall have paralyzed our hands, the 
discharge of a duty so- calculated, not only to contri- 
bute to the happiness of others,. but to sweeten and 
soften the closing hours of our own mortal existence ? 



"A soft answer turneth. away wrath." 

THE Moral Instructor of the Philadelphia County 
Prison, in the course of some remarks on the im- 
portance of proper discipline in Penitentiaries, con- 
tends that '• the aim of the Inspectors and Keepers 
should be to recall and revive the moral sense." In 
other words, to restore the power of conscience, by 
humanizing the feelings and enlightening the under- 
standing. This strikes us as a correct view of an 
important subject. What policy, therefore, should be 
pursued? — that of severity and harshness, or that of 
consideration and mercy ? The latter, by all means. 
It may fail in some cases, but it will succeed in the 
great majority. Of this there cannot be a doubt. 
All the evidence upon the subject is conclusive. It 
is difficult, nevertheless, to obtain the right kind of 
officers. Men who have to deal with convicts should 



444 THE MORAL SENSE. 

be able to exercise a more than ordinary control over 
themselves, to repel and restrain their feelings, to 
subdue their passions, and command their temper. 
Otherwise they will become tyrants, and indulge in 
various kinds of refined cruelty. It is, too, such an 
easy thing for poor human nature to incline to selfish- 
ness, that power is often exercised with a despotic 
hand, and under circumstances of the greatest possi- 
ble oppression. It is stated that there is now at 
Cherry Hill, a convict, who, after having served four 
years in the Philadelphia County Prison, was sen- 
tenced to two years further incarceration for the vio- 
lation of discipline. It appears that he had asked a 
keeper — who has since been discharged — for an addi- 
tional piece of bread. This was refused. The man 
answered improperly. The keeper became excited, 
and entered the cell in anger, with the object of in- 
flicting punishment. At this the convict drew a knife, 
whereupon the keeper retreated, and escaped without 
injury. The wretched offender, nevertheless, was in 
consequence of the conduct just referred to, tried, con- 
victed, and sentenced to a further imprisonment of two 
years, and is now serving out the time in the Eastern 
Penitentiary! The question recurs — was not the 
keeper in some sense at fault ? Did he not provoke 
the convict to madness ? Might not all that we have 
recorded, have been avoided by the policy of kind- 
ness and forbearance? "A soft answer," in the lan- 
guage of a profound observer of human nature, " turn- 
eth away wrath." It is so even now, as in the days 
of King Solomon. When, too, we have to deal with 
the ignorant, the misguided, the down- trodden, the 
abandoned, and the profligate, some of whom, who re- 



THE MORAL SENSE. 445 

gard themselves as outcasts from society, the wisdom, 
the policy, and the mercy of this course are still more 
imperative. We are not disposed to indulge in any 
morbid sympathy, or to regard a convict as a victim, 
simply because, after his confinement to the walls of 
a prison, he assumes an air of penitence, and tells a 
plausible story. There are few who have had oppor- 
tunities of visiting the legal abodes of the offenders 
against society, who have not been sadly deceived by 
some accomplished yet inveterate villain. Neverthe- 
less, these few cases should not be regarded as speci- 
mens of the whole; and a harsh and cruel policy 
should not be adopted generally, because of the decep- 
tions practiced by the artful, and the impositions in- 
geniously contrived and skillfully executed by the 
cunning or the talented. 

There are, undoubtedly, at least two classes of offen- 
ders : those who become so by deliberate choice, and 
who, apparently, indulge and delight in the most 
heartless descriptions of crime, and those who descend 
step by step, through ignorance, want, intemperance, 
and temptation, but who, nevertheless, have not lost 
all moral sense, and would gladly retrace their steps, 
and again become useful members of society. These 
latter, we indulge a hope and belief, constitute the 
great majority ; and it is this view, long indulged and 
strengthened by all observation, that induces our ad- 
vocacy of the policy of forbearance, generosity, and 
mercy. Let us not only be grateful because we have 
escaped the temptations and the dangers which have 
overwhelmed so many of our fellow- creatures, but let 
us go a step further, and assist by all the means in 
our power, the many who have fallen. If we can 



446 THE MORAL SENSE. 

« 

raise them up morally and socially, as well as physi- 
cally, the duty is imperative, and it should be prose- 
cuted cheerfully, and at all fitting times and seasons. 
There are few who have gone beyond the years of 
manhood, who cannot remember some companion of 
their youthful days, some school-fellow or early friend 
of boyhood, who, at that unsuspecting time, was pure 
and good, and without a thought of sin or crime. 
Years passed on, and gradually the infatuated or the 
misguided wandered from the right path into the 
wrong. But can nothing be clone for him ? Is he 
dead to the voice of sympathy ? Would he not listen 
to the counsels, and be grateful for the assistance of 
an old and early friend ? At least, let the trial be 
made. And if no such unfortunate can be singled 
out, the field is a wide one, and all who desire to do 
something noble, generous, and high-hearted, may 
find ample scope for their feelings among the miser- 
able beings who crowd, as well our penal as our 
pauper establishments ; and to these we beg leave to 
direct attention. What nobler or holier object of 
human benevolence and effort than the rescue of an 
erring brother ! 



Wat Han of Pang jjimnks. 

"What hollow things are heartless promises." 

IT is the easiest thing in the world to make promises. 
There are, moreover, many persons who promise, 
never intending to perform, and not a few who believe 
at the time that they are sincere, and will fulfil all 
that they undertake to do. They mean well, but do 
not reflect sufficiently. In other words, they speak 
without thinking. They are easy, changeable, facile 
and ready ; and thus, while they lack the courage to 
say No, they often say Yes unconsciously, or at least 
not seriously. A promise is a sacred thing, and it 
should so be considered. It should not be given 
lightly, and should never, if possible, be violated. 
Nevertheless, there are multitudes who are in the 
constant habit of falsifying their pledges and breaking 
their promises. They make engagements for all times 
and occasions, and then they treat them with indiffer- 
ence and contempt. The effect is to cause disappoint- 
ment, to provoke unkindness and ill-will, to engender 
enmity. The humblest individual in society dislikes 
to be trifled with. If truthful himself, he has a right 
to expect truth in others. His engagements and obli- 
gations he regards as sacred, and he therefore naturally 
and reasonably expects the same fidelity and honor 
on the part of others. 

(447) 



448 THE MAN OF MANY OF PROMISES. 

The man of many promises is generally a trifler 
and a hypocrite, if not worse. If he venture upon a 
statement that he knows to be false, or if he make an 
engagement that he cannot fulfil, he is of course dis- 
honorable and not reliable. He may deceive arid dis- 
appoint once or twice, but thereafter he will be dis- 
trusted and avoided. It is better to be frank and 
truthful upon all occasions. This may be unpleasant 
at first, in some cases, but it will save many mis- 
givings, tergiversations, and bitter anxieties thereafter. 
A first false promise is apt to render another necessary, 
inasmuch as one untruth is too often followed by a 
succession, and each deeper and darker than that 
which preceded it. The man of many promises is no 
novel character. He may be seen in almost every 
profession, calling and condition of life. He is anxious 
to be on the best of terms with everybody ; and thus 
he assumes to be willing to oblige all who s$ek his 
aid or counsel. He is thoughtless, heedless, reckless, 
and in most cases unprincipled. He is either too 
weak to be firm, or does not mean what he says. 
Alas ! for the victims of this class of individuals. They 
are led on by false hopes, and are often induced to 
make heavy sacrifices. They may have been promised 
some situation, some influence, or some peculiar aid ; 
and at the designated hour, they find the whole thing 
a hollow mockery, if not a base coinage. 

"We have heard of more than one deplorable case. 
A few years since, an estimable young stranger who 
was in very needy circumstances, was offered a situa- 
tion in a western city. He was about accepting it, 
when a pretended friend advised him. otherwise, and 
guaranteed some thing "much better within a few 



THE MAN OF MANY PKOMISES. 449 

weeks." The opportunity was permitted to pass, and 
at the expiration of the alloted time, the better situa- 
tion was found to be a mere bubble — a heartless 
fiction. Nay, in another case, a man of family was 
induced, by a public functionary, to throw up an 
eligible post, under the promise of providing him a 
much better ; and then, to his consternation, he was 
coolly told by the individual who had placed him in 
such a dilemma, that he could not receive the ap- 
pointment. Such conduct we regard not only as dis- 
creditable, but as base and unmanly. The system, 
we repeat, is reckless and heartless. "We have no 
right to trifle with the feelings and fortunes of others. 
"We have no right to raise expectations which we can- 
not realize. The man of many promises is certain to 
become involved in feuds and misunderstandings. 
The deceived and betrayed naturally get indignant. 
They cannot understand a policy so false and so base. 
Nay, we have known more than one instance in which 
a bitter disappointment caused by a violated promise, 
has resulted in sickness and death. 

It sometimes happens that for years the mind is 
directed to a particular object. It becomes the one 
great thought, the all-absorbing purpose. All the 
energies of the character are devoted to its attainment. 
At such a moment, aid, pecuniary or otherwise, may 
be absolutely essential. This may be promised, nay, 
sometimes volunteered, but with no intention of 
affording it. When, therefore, the truth is ascertained, 
and the delusion vanishes, the disappointment and 
the despair are keen and agonizing. Nay, the grave 
itself is sometimes resorted to, as the only means of 
escape and relief. How cruel then to promise without 



450 THE MAN OF MANY PKOMISES. 

intending to perform — to fan hopes and expectations 
that can never be realized ! There are other kinds 
of promises in which the affections are deeply engaged, 
and which, when violated, life is embittered for years. 
These obligations are not unfreqnently the result 
rather of conduct than of words, of manner than of 
professions. In a neighboring city not long since, a 
highly accomplished lady was betrothed for a con- 
siderable period to one of the sterner sex, and the 
out-door world were in constant expectation of their 
marriage. But suddenly, and without the slightest 
cause, the suitor withdrew his attentions, and in the 
course of a few months married another. The injured 
woman may forgive, but she can never forget such 
vile treachery. And yet her slumbers must be far 
sweeter and deeper than those of the ingrate and the 
recreant. But to promise without intending to per- 
form, is always culpable, nay, criminal. In every 
sense the practice is base and dishonorable, and it 
should be carefully avoided. 



mm anir t\t Utarfp of Jtal 
fife. 



"There are martyrs that miss the palm, bat not the stake; there are he*oes 
Without the laurel, and conquerors without the triumph." 



IT is the fashion of mankind to bow down to suc- 
cess. The powerful and the affluent are, in a gen- 
eral sense, regarded as idols — as something almost 
superhuman. The means, too, by which they at- 
tained eminence, are not always duly scrutinized. 
The end dazzles and bewilders, and thus the multitude 
flatter and fawn, while modest merit, unwavering in- 
tegrity, and untiring perseverance, if unsuccessful, are 
too often permitted to wither in the shade. And yet 
there is no spectacle better calculated to command the 
admiration of the just and the appreciating, than a 
noble mind struggling with adversity. The few only 
succeed, the many fail. Nevertheless, there is no 
condition in life that does not abound in moral he- 
roes. There is none that has not its martyrs. Thou- 
sands and tens of thousands toil on from year to year, 
conscientious, honest, upright, and faithful, and yet 
unknown, unnoticed, and obscure. Their duties are 
often arduous, and they discharge them with untiring 
purpose, and without a murmur. Again, in the 
higher walks of life, how many are blessed with in- 
tellect, and adorned by all that is calculated to elevate 
and dignify human nature but who do not succeed in 
28 (451) 



452 HEROES AND MARTYRS OF REAL LIFE. 

a worldly sense. The recent fearful epidemic in Vir- 
ginia fanned the flame of moral heroism in many gen- 
erous and sympathetic breasts; and the volunteers 
who perished in a cause so holy, deserve to be pointed 
to with admiration in all time to come. And so 
in all similar cases. The gentle creatures who re- 
paired to the hospitals of the Crimea, for the purpose 
of pouring o/l into the wounds of the sick and the 
suffering, mir.t be regarded as among the noblest 
specimens of moral heroism. So, too, the Spanish 
woman who was killed at Monterey by a chance shot, 
while she wfes administering alike to the wants of the 
lingering a^id the languishing of both armies. The 
idea of worldly fame, or of earthly reward, did not 
enter into her calculation. The divine spirit of hu- 
manity glowed in her bosom, and she fell while in 
the discharge of a sacred duty. But how many are 
at this moment struggling on in various positions of 
life, calmly, earnestly, and yet unsuccessfully ! How 
many, indeed, have gone down to the grave, whitened 
by time and bent with care, who devoted almost every 
hour of their existence to some object which they 
believed was calculated to benefit mankind, and who 
failed to realize the golden dream ! Only a few days 
since we heard of the suicide at Washington of an 
enthusiast, who was convinced that he had discovered 
a new and extraordinary system of musical educa- 
tion, but who, failing to secure a sufficient degree of 
public attention, desponded, despaired, maddened, and 
rushed into eternity ! It is, we consider, an error to 
give way under any circumstances, for the true policy 
is to persevere unto the end. But, alas ! for all who 
waste their talents and their years with a laudable 



HEROES AND MARTYRS OF REAL LIFE. 453 

object, who exert their faculties and their energies, 
who exhaust all honorable efforts at their command, 
and jet who fail ! It has been well and touchingly 
said, that " ill success sometimes arises from a super- 
abundance of qualities in themselves good, from a 
conscience too sensitive, a taste too fastidious, a self- 
forgetfulness too romantic, and a modesty too retir- 
ing." This is undoubtedly true. It is, moreover, 
the observation of one who has not only looked upon 
the world with a thoughtful mind, but a sympathetic 
heart. Who, that has mingled much with mankind, 
cannot point out illustrations? Who cannot single 
out individuals who are possessed of genius, talent, 
industry, truth, integrity — all the qualities that are 
calculated to embellish and beautify the human char- 
acter, but who cannot succeed! Every thing in a 
worldly way seems to go wrong with them. They 
are not fitted for the contentions of trade, the compe- 
titions of commerce, the rivalries of ambition, or even 
the ordinary chances and changes of the bustling 
scenes of society. They are kind of heart, generous, 
just, and self-denying. They fulfill all their obliga- 
tions, and discharge all their duties; and yet they 
do not succeed in a business or a pecuniary sense. 
Year after year goes by, and they still struggle at 
their posts. And there Death finds them ; the success 
of this life as unachieved and remote as ever. But 
may we not hope, as the spirit parts from the body, 
as the soul wings its flight from this perishing frame 
of flesh, that a radiant beam of glory will burst upon 
the immortal vision, and the success, the triumph, 
the realization, which were denied in this world, will 
gladden, gratify, and thrill with inconceivable delight, 
in that which is above and beyond ! 

23 



% lEorfr in $mm\i 



ON looking through the history of one's life, sur- 
prise will frequently be produced at the impor^ 
tant result of circumstances which, when they tran- 
spired, seemed trivial and insignificant. A man's 
energies are something like his life. Both may be 
nearly exhausted, and both may be recalled into new 
action, revivified existence, by a breath of fresh air — 
a word of sympathy and encouragement. We remem- 
ber a story of a child who had been long ill, and 
whose frame and faculties had become so exhausted 
and enfeebled by his disease, that his poor mother 
hung over him in agony, believing that the spirit had 
departed. At this point the father, who had been 
absent from home for some time, and who doated on 
his boy, arrived, was informed of his son's illness, and 
passed calmly into the sick chamber. The child was 
indeed pale and cold, and seemed wholly lifeless. But 
the father still clung to a faint hope, and, leaning over 
the apparent corpse, he placed his mouth to the ear 
of the boy, whispered some old, familiar, and affection- 
ate word, which seemed as it were to penetrate into 
the inner depths of the child's emaciated frame and 
exhausted spirit. He opened his eyes, a faint smile 
played upon his features, and from that moment his 
recovery was as if by miracle. The father had spoken 
the "word in season." Perhaps we should add, he 
breathed a silent prayer to the Deity, before he whis- 
(454) 



A WOllD IN SEASON: 455 

pered in the ear of his child, and that from the first he 
felt impressed with a belief that the boy would be 
spared him. He had faith in the inward appeal, and 
that faith, thus strengthened by the recovery of one 
so dear to him, has never departed from his mind and 
heart. The little incident which we have just detailed 
is doubtless but an ordinary occurrence. Like results 
are constantly taking place. Bat in the excitement, 
bustle, and forgetfulness which characterize the scenes 
of this life, they arrest attention but for a moment, 
and pass away, to be recalled only in some hour of 
calm reflection, or when sickness has prostrated our 
physical strength, and our thoughts wandered to an- 
other world. We have alluded to the circumstance 
with a twofold object. In the first place, for the pur- 
pose of urging the potent influence of a word in sea- 
son, and in the second, of encouraging the doctrine of 
perseverance under any and every difficulty. We 
should never despair. We should never permit our- 
selves to abandon all hope with regard to the reform 
of a friend or relative who has imbibed evil habits 
and whose footsteps seem tending to ruin and death 
In sickness, we should still hold on to the last, and 
resort to every means for the recovery and restoration 
of the patient. So also with moral diseases and in- 
firmities — so in our struggles and trials in the out- 
door world. A word in season may still exercise a 
most salutary influence. The erring may be recalled 
from their condition of darkness and danger, and in- 
duced to put on the garments of reform. How much 
in this way has been accomplished within the last few 
years by the Temperance Eeform! How many 
wretched outcasts have been reclaimed ! How many 



456 A WORD IN SEASON. 

desolate hearths have been brightened ! How many 
sad domestic circles have been made happy ! Perse- 
vere — persevere — should be the motto of all, not only 
in trade and in commerce, but in philanthropy and 
religion. Let us not be misunderstood. We would 
not have even the best of morals inculcated in an un- 
kind and offensive spirit. The manner should be 
benevolent and Christian as well as the matter. We 
have seen it contended, and not without force, that 
there " are evils in the life of every man, when all the 
concurrent circumstances of fortune seem to form, as 
it were, a dam against the current of his fate, and turn 
it completely into another direction, where the trifling 
accident and the great event work together to produce 
an entirely new combination around him." 

Is not this doctrine strictly true ? Have you not, 
gentle reader, seen it illustrated in your own history ? 
And yet, trifles light as air sometimes produce mighty 
results ; while, on other occasions, events of apparently 
vast importance pass rapidly on, and leave scarcely a 
vestige of their progress behind. We are creatures 
in the hands of a Superior Being. We do not know, 
we cannot predict, how the events of to-day may affect 
us years to come. It is impossible for us to say, at 
what point in our history misfortune may leave us, 
and the future, however dark at present, assume an 
aspect of brightness. Still it is our duty to be virtu- 
ous, to have faith and to persevere. So, also, we are 
bound to extend sympathy, consolation, and encour- 
agement to others. Many a suicide has been turned 
from his dark purpose, by some act of charity and 
humanity on the part of a stranger. Many a poor 
beggar, perishing in the streets, has, when he least ex 



LIFE AND ITS EXCITEMENTS. 457 

pected it, been warmed in heart, encouraged in hope, 
induced to thank Providence, and taught to look for- 
ward to better days, by some unexpected alms thrust 
into his extended hand by an unknown individual, 
who at the moment was prompted to the generous act 
by the invisible Spirit of God. Persevere ! — we repeat, 
persevere! " Never," says the author of Marston, 
" think of the failures of yesterday but to avoid them 
to-morrow; and never speculate on the failures of to- 
morrow, but to remember that you have outlived the 
failures of to-day." 



life Httb its feitements; or, % JPJilosflfJi 
of Retiring, 

" He struggled on another year — and died I" 

THE excitements of life are so absorbing, that it 
requires great sagacity to discover the proper 
moment to withdraw from a position of constant 
activity, while more than ordinary moral courage is 
necessary to enable one to act upon such a conclusion 
or determination. This is not only the case in the 
political but in the commercial world. Nay, it is so 
in almost every phase and condition of social existence. 
There are few who can realize the fact that they have 
seen their best days ; that their faculties, mental and 
physical, have become enfeebled ; and, in short, that the 
time has arrived for them to throw off some of the 



458 LIFE AND ITS EXCITEMENTS. 

cares and responsibilities of business, of ambition, of 
power or of position, and retire, to some extent at least, 
within the calm seclusion of peaceful scenes and asso- 
ciations. Not a week goes by, that some rich man is 
not called away in the midst of his struggles for gain. 
A determination is made from day to day, and from 
year to year, to withdraw, to wind up the tangled 
skein of a thousand business engagements, to pause in 
the struggle for more, and to hoard the little physical 
strength that remains. But the excitements of the 
time engross and absorb, new schemes present them- 
selves, new enterprises hold out their temptations, and 
thus the wear and tear are kept up, the busy chase 
goes on, until at last the weary and way-worn toiler, 
utterly exhausted, falters, fails, and absolutely totters 
into the grave. The majority of men not only mis- 
take their strength, but overtask their powers. Nay, 
they constantly deceive themselves. They lull and 
delude themselves with the belief that they are stronger 
than they really are; that any feebleness or illness 
with which they may be troubled will prove but 
momentary ; that the world is still wide and inviting 
before them, and that they have yet much to do with 
its busy and bewildering scenes. Occasionally they 
are admonished, as some old friend is snatched away, 
and for a moment they pause, linger thoughtfully upon 
the subject, and then avoid it as unpleasant and pain- 
ful. Business, too, calls with its many voices, power 
still holds out its fascinations, ambition points to its 
triumphs, and the sick, the dying, and even the dead, 
are forgotten ! Such is life and its excitements. Such 
is man ; such are his pursuits. Such is human infirmity 
—such human delusion. Every opulent city abounds 



LIFE AND ITS EXCITEMENTS. 459 

with illustrations. Shut out to a considerable extent 
from Nature and her teachings, unmindful of the 
progress of seed-time and harvest, forgetful of the 
lessons that are so constantly inculcated by the falling 
leaf and the fading flower, the denizen of a thronged 
metropolis sees only the busy multitude around and 
'about him — each actively engaged, either in the strug- 
gle for bread or the race for fortune, and the majority, 
prompted by the heartless spirit of selfishness. The 
world, within such narrow limits, is full of anxi- 
eties and excitements. Not a day goes by, that some 
new bubble is not blown before the eyes of the eager 
and the credulous ; that some wild" scheme is not con- 
cocted for the purpose of deluding the thoughtless and 
the grasping ; that some base imposture is not devised 
with the purpose of deceiving and defrauding. The 
young and inexperienced are, in most cases, the vic- 
tims, but not so always. Avarice often deceives it- 
self; and in the effort to accumulate and clutch, it 
sometimes sacrifices the earnings of years. And thus 
it is that so many, unwilling to retire at the proper 
time, not contented with a moderate independence, 
unable to discover when they have secured enough, 
not only outlive their day, but indulge too long in the 
hazards of trade, and the perils of enterprise, and find 
at last that they are on the eve of the grave, when, as 
they foolishly supposed, some new fortune was about 
to be showered upon them. It is, indeed, difficult to 
discover, whether, in many cases, ambition and power 
do not present stronger temptations to the advanced 
in years than even the golden fascinations of Mammon. 
Look for example at some of the Presidential aspirants 
of our own day and country. Look back, also, at some 



i60 LIFE AND ITS EXCITEMENTS, 

of those who have passed from the scene of their mor- 
tal labors. Again, look into society, penetrate the 
marts of trade and commerce, and single out from the 
crowds there busily engaged, the men who, already 
independent, abundantly so, yet toil on, some of them 
bent with age and with care, and feverish and hollow- 
eyed with anxiety ! The result will astonish and be- 
wilder. It will be impossible to imagine why such 
anxieties are submitted to, why the failing energies 
are thus tasked and taxed, why health is thus trifled 
with, and life itself endangered. Is it because the in- 
dividuals thus engaged have become so thoroughly 
absorbed with the things of this world, that they have 
no thought for any future condition ? Is it that they 
mistake their strength ? Is it that they deceive them- 
selves, or has avarice so taken possession of their souls 
that they cannot find time to reflect that there are 
other duties than those of accumulation, that humanity 
has its high and holy obligations, and that there is a 
world and a destiny beyond the grave ? It is not for 
us to reply to these questions, but they are neverthe- 
less pregnant with meaning, and entitled to calm and 
deliberate consideration. Why should the future be 
sacrificed to the present — and why should poor human- 
ity toil, labor, and strive for the hollow things of earth 
to the neglect as well of the priceless consolations of an 
unaccusing conscience, as of the blissful inheritance 
of a bright hereafter ! 



%\t (Me aitb % Harsjr; or, €k 
Pjikoplju of Reproof. 



1 If a soul thou wouldst redeem, 

And lead a lost one back to God — 
Wouldst thou a guardian angel seem 

To one who long in guilt has trod — 
Go kindly to him — take his hand 

With gentlest words within thine own, 
And by his side a brother stand, 

Till all the demons thou dethrone." 



FTMHE time, the mode, and the manner of reproof 01 
JL rebuke are not sufficiently attended to. Many 
individuals are disposed to use harsh language when 
mild would prove far more effective, and to indulge 
in a burst of violent denunciation when a few well- 
considered words would answer every purpose. The 
pangs that have been caused by the rash course, the 
difficulties and the estrangements that have been pro- 
duced, the misunderstandings and the fends, have been 
numerous indeed. There are few who can control and 
govern themselves at all times. Even in the family 
circle and the domestic household, the error adverted 
to prevails to a fearful extent, and wives are rebuked 
by husbands, children by parents, not in a kindly and 
considerate spirit, but with bitterness, harshness, and 
temper. The consequences may be imagined. The 
head of the household, if he be the erring party, is re- 
garded with fear and apprehension, and is considered 
rather in the light of a petty despot than of a parent, 

(461) 



462 THE GENTLE AND THE HARSH. 

a counselor, and a friend. His presence is shunned 
rather than sought for ; and home, instead of being 
rendered the happiest place upon earth, is made a 
scene of anxiety and pain, and is avoided as much as 
possible. And so, too, with reference to the harsh 
wife and the idle or erring husband. The violence 
of language and of manner, so frequently resorted to 
by the former, are regarded with a sort of terror, and 
thus many a weak but well-meaning man is driven 
away from his home, and induced to commit shocking 
excesses, who, by a milder and gentler policy, might 
readily be won from his dissolute companions and his 
evil and vicious habits. A year or two ago, a young 
man arrived in this country from France, in a state of 
comparative destitution. He was the only nephew 
of an eminent merchant of Marseilles, to whose care 
he had been confided by his dying sister, in the last 
hours of her illness. He (the uncle) gave his pledge 
to prove a father to the youth, and for several years 
he kept it. But as the nephew approached the age 
of manhood, his uncle sought out for him a very ad- 
vantageous companion for life, as he supposed, in the 
daughter of a wealthy friend. The youth listened at 
first, consented to see the lady; and to exert himself, 
as well to secure her affections as to obey his uncle's 
request. The trial was unfortunate. The parties 
were not suited to each other, and so the nephew an- 
nounced to his relative and guardian, and in as re- 
spectful language as he could. But the uncle was in- 
censed in the highest degree. He had set his heart 
upon the match, and he considered the conduct of- the 
youth, under the circumstances, as insolent, presump- 
tuous and rebellious. So, too, he described it, and in 



THE GENTLE AND THE HAESH. 463 

language of vehemence and passion. The young man 
bore all this day after day, and then, in very despera- 
tion and despair, he gathered together his wardrobe, 
and the little funds he conld command, and came to 
this country. For awhile the struggle was as between 
life and death. A stranger in a strange land, and 
unable to speak the language, his position at times 
was melancholy indeed. But he would rather die 
than return to his' uncle, and his uncle, on the other 
hand— such is often excited human nature — would 
rather see him perish than bring him back by a kind 
word! And this, perhaps, is one of many kindred 
cases. The harshness of friends and relatives, even 
although deserved, should rarely be exercised. The 
fact of error only renders the mind more irritable ; and 
thus it is that the misguided and the guilty, stung to 
the quick by some sharp and cutting remark, often 
rush into the world, and brave all its vicissitudes, re- 
verses," and terrors, rather than apologize and ask for 
forgiveness. How often is this the case with the 
young, the wild, and the improvident ! Mistaking 
themselves and their own powers, they venture into 
the great whirlpool of human society, totally uncon- 
scious of the shoals and the quicksands, the tempta- 
tions and the trials. And when, too, they fall, as they 
frequently do, never to rise again, how keen the re- 
morse of those who drove them away by thoughtless- 
ness, by harshness, by severity ! Their dreams by 
night, and their thoughts by day, are haunted by the 
shadowy ghosts of the reckless and the ruined. They 
would give worlds* to recall their mistaken policy, and 
yet they looked on and saw the victims perish, or 
closed their ears to the voice of nature, conscience, 



464: THE GENTLE AND THE HAKSH. 

and humanity. "Deal gently with the erring," and 
especially with the young. This is the true, the 
generous, the godlike policy. Why should we mete 
out to others, and especially to flesh of our own flesh, 
a measure of harshness that we would not have the 
great Creator deal out toward us ? Why should we 
forget our own errors and infirmities, and fancy be- 
cause we have grown wiser and better, that all man- 
kind, the young and the unfortunate, the improvident 
and misguided, the easy and the credulous, should be 
able to exercise a like spirit of philosophy ? There is, 
moreover, much more real pleasure in the enjoyment 
of the kindly than in the indulgence of the harsh. The 
one is full of benevolence and good-will — the other 
of bitterness, tyranny, jealousy, and malice. Of course, 
it is difficult at times, even with the best and purest, 
so to school and control the passions, the preju- 
dices, and the lips, as to avoid a harsh rebuke or a 
bitter remark. But these seasons should be excep- 
tions to the general rule, a rule that, if closely ad- 
hered to — of never uttering a harsh word when a 
mild one would answer as well — is calculated to form 
a perpetual source of satisfaction and of pleasure. 



<@d% 54 to Jasi 



: Before thy hour be ripe ! oh, foolish youth, 
Thou woulds't be affluent ?" 



THE desire to accumulate wealth may, to a eertaiu. 
extent, be regarded as natural as well as honor- 
able. No individual who possesses a proper spirit, is 
anxious to remain for years in a conditiom of depend- 
ence and uncertainty. A competency is, indeed, one 
of the essentials of a comfortable state of human ex- 
istence, especially in a society constituted as is that of 
the present day. But the desire to get rich too rapidly, 
must be considered as an error and an evil, especially 
with the young and inexperienced, who foolishly 
fancy that fortunes can be made in a year, and that 
there is some short road to prosperity and wealth. 
The effect is to induce them not only to indulge in 
visionary enterprises and hazardous speculations, but 
to tempt them, at times, into the commission of dis- 
honorable, nay, even of criminal acts. They are de- 
termined to get money " honestly if they can," but 
" by all means to get money." Their ideas become in- 
flated and extravagant, they lack the great essentials 
of patience, perseverance, industry, and energy; and 
they deluda themselves with a belief that they possess 
peculiar faculties," and hence are " bound" to secure a 
fortune by some rapid and irregular mode. Thus, 
they are constantly on "the look-out," and at the same 

(465) 



'166 GETTING KICH TOO FAST. 

time are comparatively idle. The ordinary pursuits 
of life and industry are alluded to with contempt, and 
as beneath the dignity and the ability of persons of 
their remarkable and precocious powers. And they 
live on from day to day and from year to year, 
visionary, speculative, theoretical, and often, as already 
observed, tempted into crime. Some frightful illus- 
trations have been afforded within a few years. The 
arsons, the forgeries, the breaches of trust and the de- 
falcations may, many of them at least, be attributed to 
the desire to get rich quickly, and without regard to 
the means. It is a fearful error, and one that, in a 
great majority of cases, will sooner or later plunge its 
victims into difficulty, danger, and disgrace. The old 
and beaten track — that of honesty and integrity — is 
the only reliable one. The route may be long, and 
the difficulties may be numerous, but the end will 
always be honorable, and generally successful. It is 
true that large fortunes have occasionally been realized 
in a short time by some bold and dashing enterprise. 
But the cases are as one in a thousand. And while, 
moreover, the few successful are pointed out, and 
made the objects of emulation and jealousy, the many 
unsuccessful attract little or no attention, and com- 
mand less sympathy and commiseration. Such is the 
way of the world. Legitimate enterprise is one thing, 
but wild and bubble-like speculation is another, and 
in broad contrast. The individual who is gradually 
accumulating a pecuniary independence by the pur- 
suit of a regular business, and who, intoxicated by 
success, becomes desirous of participating in this 
scheme and to the neglect of his regular occupation, is 
fascinated by a fearful temptation, and one to which 



GETTING RICH TOO FAST. 467 

hundreds have already fallen victims. It is not in the 
nature of things that one human being, however active 
and able, should be capable of managing many call- 
ings. Let him direct all his energies and efforts to 
one, /ind the chances will be decidedly in his fa^or. 
But let him distract his attention and divide his ener- 
gies, and the reverse will almost inevitably be tbs 
consequence. Of late years, an extravagant spirit has 
been abroad everywhere throughout the country. 
Eeal estate has nearly doubled in price, not only in 
the hearts of our leading cities, but in the outskirts 
and suburbs. Farms have been converted into build- 
ing lots, and railroads have penetrated into wild and' 
barren recesses. The' effect has been to bewilder and 
madden. Some of the landholders, taking advantage 
of the momentary excitement, realized at enormous 
prices, and thus made themselves comfortable for the 
rest of their days. Others, however, increased their 
terms as the fever increased, and are likely to repent 
their greedy and grasping disposition in sackcloth and 
ashes. But the effect of all this, and especially of the 
marvelous stories that have been told of the rapid for- 
tunes thus realized, has been to deceive and delude 
the young, the eager, and the inexperienced. " Why," 
they argue, "cannot we pursue a similar course? 
Why should we be compelled to toil from day to day, 
and with so remote a chance of independence and 
fortune ? Others have speculated boldly and success- 
fully, and why cannot we do so ?" In the first place, 
they lack the judgment and experience ; in the second, 
the steadiness and firmness ; and in the third, most of 
them have yet to accumulate even the few thousand 
dollars which are essential as a starting-point. The 
29 



468 EXAGGERATION. 

cases are rare, indeed, in which success is achieved 
without patience, perseverance, and industry. Those 
who are about to begin life should understand and 
appreciate this truth, and act accordingly. The dream 
of sudden fortunes without labor and perseverance is 
a delusion. It will mock, deceive tempt, and destroy. 



ratim— |fe |MIs aifo its penalties. 



A habit base and vile. 



ONE of the prevailing evils of the day, is a dispo- 
sition to exaggerate. It prevails in some degree 
in almost every circle. No event can take place, 
either in public or private life, that is not misrepre- 
sented and exaggerated, and to such an extent, that it 
is sometimes impossible to ascertain the real truth. 
The credulous are thus often imposed upon, while the 
cautious and hesitating rarely believe any thing. In 
the social world this spirit and disposition exist to a 
frightful extent. Extravagant phrases are employed 
in describing trifling events, and the ordinary inci- 
dents of every-day life are magnified into something 
important and serious. If a gentleman call twice 
upon a lady in the same week, they are reported by 
some prying looker-on as u engaged," and this story 
travels from lip to lip with such rapidity, that it is 
almost impossible to contradict it fully and effectually. . 
The consequences are not only unpleasant, but often 



EXAGGEKATION. 469 

painful. And so in cases of disaster. If a fire take 
place, the amount of damage is generally trebled by 
the first reports ; and if a failure occur, the liabilities 
are multiplied : and thus the community are excited 
and deceived. 

The seat of government at Washington is the focus 
of invention and exaggeration, not to say of downright 
falsehood. The most improbable stories are constantly 
put into circulation from that fertile manufactory. The 
more startling the better — at least so the authors seem 
to imagine. They create a sensation, attract attention, 
and thus the end is answered. The competition, too, 
is so keen among some of the letter-writers, that when 
they are deficient in facts they do not hesitate to call 
upon fancy. The public has been deceived so often, 
that more than ordinary suspicion now attaches to 
Washington rumors, and a considerable discount is 
always made for the spirit of exaggeration. 

But it is the disposition to speak grandiloquently 
upon trifling affairs, and to magnify the molelike 
events of human life into momentous and mountainous 
matters, that we desire more particular!)' to censure. 
The evil is one that grows from day to day, and thus 
in the course of a year or two the habit becomes so 
fixed, that a "plain, unvarnished tale" is altogether 
out of the question. Nay, all character for veracity is 
destroyed, and it is impossible for a listener to decide 
how much of truth and how much of falsehood is 
embodied in the story that is told or the incident that 
is described. Many persons become addicted to this 
practice, without recognizing or appreciating its per- 
nicious effect, and indeed unconscious that they indulge 

in a habit so vile. They at first intend merely to 
29 



470 EXAGGERATION. 

embellish some ordinary affair, and then they follow 
up the experiment again and again, until at last they 
cannot speak the simple truth, because, in brief, it is 
too plain and unadorned for the excited, extravagant, 
and exaggerated spirit to which they have accustomed 
themselves. A sad mistake, and one, we repeat, that 
is full of evil consequences. 

The beauty of truth cannot be commended too 
highly, while its influence upon character and happi- 
ness can only be fully appreciated either by those who 
have watched in others the general effects of error and 
exaggeration, or who have experienced them in them- 
selves. Many and striking illustrations could be 
given, but there is scarcely an individual who cannot 
call before his mental vision the image of some invet- 
erate exaggerater or falsifier — one who either has not 
a due appreciation of truth, its beauty and its sublimity, 
or who, having become addicted to extravagance of 
speech, and exaggeration in detail, can never be relied 
upon ; but, on the contrary, is always listened to with 
doubt and distrust. 

There are two classes who indulge in this weakness 
or vice. One may be regarded as thoughtless, inno- 
cent, and intending no harm, and the other as jealous, 
deliberate, and malicious. With the former the prac- 
tice may be regarded as a weakness, and with the 
latter as a vice. The former speak idly, rashly, and 
extravagantly, simply with the object of hearing them- 
selves talk, and creating a momentary sensation, while 
the latter delight in hunting up the trifling errors and 
imperfections of their friends and neighbors, and mag 
nifying them into serious, if not unpardonable offences. 
But the habit is a vile one in every point of view It 



CHARACTER. 471 

is full of mischief, if not of guilt, and it should be 
avoided by all who wish well to themselves and to 
others. Truth is one of the brightest jewels of moral 
character. It not only adorns and dignifies, but its 
lustre, like that of the diamond, attracts, embellishes, 
and beautifies. 



Ckrader~-C|e |]araltg rt fa loss. 



'• Good name, in man or woman, dear my lord, 
Is the immediate jewel of their souls." 



ATKIAL took place some time since in a neigh 
boring city, in which an individual was charged 
with a serious fraud. The testimony against him was 
strong, but it was not conclusive ; and the fact that he 
had, up to that time, borne an irreproachable charac- 
ter, exercised so much influence upon the minds of 
the jury, that a verdict of acquittal was rendered. The 
decision, as it seems to us, was right under the cir- 
cumstances. Unsullied character, in such a case, 
should exercise due influence. It should protect 
against unjust suspicion, and constitute a palladium 
and a safeguard in the hour of difficulty and danger. 
A few years ago, and during the existence of a mone- 
tary crisis, a citizen of New York waited upon one of 
the banks, and asked assistance. The times were " tight," 
hi the language of the day, and hence hesitation was 
manifested. But the case was pressing, and in reply 
to some remark, the applicant said that he " had been 
forty years engaged in business, had never yet been 



472 CHARACTER. 

charged with a dishonorable transaction, and had 
never failed to make his obligations good." The bank 
officer paused a moment longer, acknowledged the 
truth of what had been said, and then conceded that 
" such a plea was irresistible." The loan was secured, 
business affairs brightened soon after, and all went 
merry as a marriage bell. In this case, as in the for- 
mer, character was depended upon as a last resort, 
and it did not fail in the hour of emergency. Doubt- 
less there are many readers who could cite similar 
instances : and hence, as a general rule, the priceless 
value of character. 

On the other hand, how numerous are the cases in 
which the tricky, the mercenary, the plausible, and 
the unprincipled, find that they have lived but to 
little purpose ; that the guile and hypocrisy which they 
supposed had fully concealed their principles from 
the world, were seen through as a hollow mask, and 
all the deformity beneath was made distinct and ap- 
parent! How often, in the hour of adversity, do the 
base by nature, the selfish in disposition, and the 
niggardly in spirit, discover that they are without 
character, and that falsehood and evil will not serve 
their purpose in the hour of peril. An instance of 
this kind recently passed under our observation. An 
individual who had accumulated considerable prop- 
erty by trick and management, who was regarded as 
"smart" in business affairs, who cared but little for 
the means, so that the end was accomplished, and who 
thus was distrusted as well as despised, suddenly dis- 
covered that he had ventured too far in the field of 
speculation, and that unless assisted, he must be des- 
troyed. He called first upon one acquaintance, and 

\ 



CHARACTER. 473 

then upon another, tried one expedient, and then 
another, resorted to every device in his power, but 
all in vain. The fact was, he had impaired his char- 
acter, and no one would trust him. He had been 
guilty of dishonorable practices, had violated his 
word repeatedly before, and the penalty was doubt, 
discredit, and in the end, utter bankruptcy. He, in 
fact, had overreached himself. His little schemes of 
villainy had succeeded, and such success only tempted 
him on from step to step, until at last he found him- 
self beyond his depth, and then deserted, because no 
one could or would rely upon him. 

We have somewhere read a story of a young man, 
who was arrested and tried for murder, and against 
whom the circumstantial evidence was very strong, 
but who was saved at last by the testimony of his 
schoolmaster. He " had been a good boy, every way 
truthful, trustworthy, and reliable;" and the jury 
could not believe that one whose early years were so 
bright and unsullied, could, so soon after attaining 
the age of manhood, sink into guilt and crime. 
" Train up a child in the way he should go, and when 
he is old he will not depart from it," is an adage full 
of practical wisdom. The importance of character in 
every relation of life can scarcely be conceived by the 
hasty and the inconsiderate. Nothing should be 
guarded with more care, or watched with more un- 
sleeping vigilance. The young cannot become too 
earnestly impressed with these truths. Let them 
start in life with an unsullied name and an irre- 
proachable character, and the prospect before them 
will be full of promise. But let them pursue another 
course, and at the beginning pollute their lips with 



474 PECULIARITIES. 

falsehood, and darken their fair fame with dishonor, 
and they will thereafter toil on with difficulty; for 
the ghosts of their early misdoings will track them 
step by step, and whisper bitter and mocking memo- 
ries of their early career. In the hour of trial, too, 
there will be few to stand by them ; for he who reck- 
lessly and wantonly sports with his own character, 
strikes at and destroys his best friend. 



Jealkities; or, J1I jrafet litfemitk 

" He had strange ways — was odd, and singular." 

AN intelligent friend contends that all men have 
their peculiarities, and are more or less mono- 
maniacs. He admits his own infirmities, but expresses 
a hope that they partake of the amiable and the mild 
rather than the malignant and the vicious, and he 
therefore indulges the belief that, to a certain extent, 
his errors are of a harmless character. Nothing hu- 
man, indeed, is perfect. All have their frailties, and 
their short-comings, and it very frequently happens, 
that the very blemishes we see and complain of in 
others, are those by which we ourselves are disfig- 
ured, but to which we nevertheless are unconscious or 
blind to. But is it true that all are more or less mono- 
maniacs — that every member of the human family is 
deluded and deceived to a certain extent, upon some 
one subject? The position is startling at the first 



PECULIAKITIES. 475 

blush, and yet it is not without a semblance of truth. 
We cannot, in most cases, discover the fact in our- 
selves, although there are many who know and admit 
that they have tastes, habits, and prejudices, to which 
they are in some sense slaves; which control and 
master them with an irresistible power, and from which 
they endeavor in vain to escape. At certain periods 
they will wrestle and battle in the most vigorous 
manner against their evil genius, and with apparent 
success; and yet the effect will only be temporary. 
The old habit will come back at some unexpected mo- 
ment, and they will yield to it unconsciously. 

But with others, the difficulty of discovering the 
weakness and the vice is indeed great. It is curious, 
but it is not the less true, that the faults and follies 
of our neighbors are the ordinary themes of comment 
and criticism, that others are ridiculed as monomaniacs 
upon this subject or upon that, and are denounced 
accordingly, while we cannot or will not see a simi- 
larity in ourselves. There is scarcely an individual 
who cannot single out from amongst his circle of ac- 
quaintance, some one who is characterized by peculi- 
arities so marked and strong as to render him eccentric. 
If the error, habit, or infirmity be of an evil tendency, 
so much the worse. If it be to defame, to denounce, 
to abuse, and misrepresent, it is indeed censurable and 
deplorable, and calculated to do much harm. And 
that there are such persons with such habits, slanderers 
by constitution, calumniators by monomania, is beyond 
all question. 

There are others, again, who run wild upon some 
peculiar idea. They can think and talk of nothing 
eise. Their minds and their hearts seem to have be- 



476 PECULIARITIES. 

come absorbed in a delusion, a dream, or a prejudice, 
and in this they indulge in season and out of season, and 
without reference to discretion, common sense, or of 
the ordinary rules of social life. They are enthusiasts, 
zealots, nay, worse — monomaniacs. Every thing — 
according to their doctrine — should yield to the one 
great purpose. All other interests or considerations 
should be forgotten ; and, infatuated for the time by 
their peculiar idiosyncrasy, they can think of nothing 
else, and frequently sacrifice themselves to an ignis 
fatuus of the brain. 

Even among the most illustrious men of ancient 
and modern times, peculiarities, and often of a most 
ridiculous kind, have been noticed. If, therefore, great 
intellectual lights have been thus characterized, we 
cannot be surprised that the comparatively feeble in 
intellect should manifest similar infirmities. There 
are, indeed, not a few individuals who in their ordinary 
course of life are frank, manly, and generous, but who 
nevertheless, in certain cases, are narrow, contracted, 
and niggardly. They will spend thousands in par- 
ticular kinds of pomp and display, and yet turn the 
shivering beggar starving from the door. They will 
invest large sums in public enterprises, and manifest 
deep interest in patriotic movements, and yet they are 
insensible to the appeals of real benevolence. They 
have, by some false mode of reasoning, persuaded 
themselves that all the unfortunate and the poor are 
idle and dishonest, and they act upon this bitter and 
heartless policy. This is, indeed, a deplorable descrip- 
tion of monomania, for it not only deforms the char- 
acter of the victim, but it misleads his judgment, 
hardens his heart, and renders him a curse instead of 






PECULIAKITIES. 477 

a blessing to society. We are acquainted with an in- 
telligent and estimable citizen, who is a passionate 
collector of all kinds of pamphlets, old and new. He 
must have accumulated thousands and tens of thou- 
sands — -more than he could read during a long life- 
time. He is now in the " sere and yellow leaf," and 
yet the passion is, if possible, more active than ever. 
It is, of course, perfectly harmless, and we only men- 
tion it by way of illustrating the general topic. 

The moral of our philosophy is, that while we are 
blind to, or unconscious of, our own errors in this 
respect, we should be indulgent to those of others. We 
should, at least, consider all the circumstances, and 
not denounce harshly or hastily. And if, moreover, 
we are exempt from, and have thus escaped any seri- 
ous infirmity, if we have no particular vice or weak- 
ness, no inveterate habit or bitter prejudice, if, in brief, 
we know ourselves, and are capable of governing our 
tastes, appetites, and passions, we should not only be 
grateful to Providence, but endeavor to deal gener- 
ously and forbearingly toward those who are less 
fortunate in their moral, mental, and social temper, 
composition, and constitution. Let us believe, more- 
over, that we have some infirmity of the kind, which, 
although not seen by our eyes, is visible to those of 
others, and thus "do unto others as we would they 
should do unto as." 



%\t fciaskh; or, W nnir fte fktans. 

" Why all this toil for triumphs of an hour? 
What though we wade in wealth or soar in fame ? 
Earth's highest station ends in ' Here he lies !' 
And ' dust to dust' concludes the noblest song." 

IF, on looking over the bills of mortality, the real 
causes of disease and death could be ascertained, 
how many victims of toil, mental or physical, would 
be discovered! The multitude seem to regard the 
human machine, so to speak, as calculated for per- 
petual motion, and as above and beyond the wear and 
tear, the chances and changes to which the contriv- 
ances of man are liable. And yet not a day goes by 
in which this absurd theory is not exploded, in ,vhich 
some one, aye, in which thousands are not summoned 
to their last account ; thus proving that the connection 
between the body and the soul, has ceased, that the 
mortal has done its work, and that the life of man is 
narrowed within a span. 

But a few months have elapsed by since we entered 
upon a new year. And yet how very brief a period 
it appears to those who are able to look back and fix 
their eyes even upon the commencement of the present 
century! The intervening space seems within the 
limits of a single glance. Nevertheless, during that 
period, thousands and tens of thousands of the sons 
and daughters of Adam have passed from the face of 
the globe ; and there are but few, comparatively sp^ak 
(478) • 



THE OVERTASKED. 479 

mg, who commenced with the Dew century, who still 
linger on in their earthly pilgrimage. The philoso- 
phy of life, so frequently glanced at, the 'theme of so 
many great minds and keen observers, is disregarded, 
misunderstood, or too hastily considered. The masses 
are too busy, too much occupied even to watch over 
themselves. They rush on wildly, recklessly, im 
providently, and often hasten their approach to the 
Valley of the Shadow of Death. The great majority 
overtask themselves, mentally as well as physically. 
They toil, and strain, and strive, and find at last that 
the vital powers are exhausted,* that the mental 
stamina is gone, that the constitution is broken, and 
that it is too late to recuperate. This is the case con- 
stantly and with myriads. It is especially so in great 
commercial cities, and in a country like ours, with so 
many hopes, competitions, anxieties, and aspirations. 
It is an ordinary spectacle to behold individuals who 
are bowed with care and bent with age, still toiling on 
as anxiously as ever, and thus exhausting, instead of 
hoarding their impaired and feeble faculties. They 
cannot, they will not see the ordinary limits of life, 
and each imagines that his is ari exception to the gen- 
eral rule, that he will prove particularly fortunate, 
that the laws of life and death may not be applied to 
him, that his mind and his body are superior to those 
of ordinary men, and hence he will not be influenced 
by the same liabilities. And thus he goes on from 
day to day, indulging in this delusion, until at last 
either the physical or mental machine gives way, 
and he sinks never to rise again. But the lesson 
thus inculcated, and the example so constantly pre- 
sented, only arrest the attention for the moment. The 



4.80 THE OVERTASKED. 

multitude hurry on, eager, anxious, and impatient, 
forgetful that they are upon the same path, and are 
liable to the same vicissitudes. A common-sense 
view of the subject would induce the belief that at a 
certain period of life, knowing the reverses to which 
all are liable, more than ordinary care would be ex- 
ercised in watching, strengthening, and protecting the 
physical as well as the mental man ; that all unneces- 
sary exposures would be avoided, and all exhausting 
strains would be carefully guarded against. But such 
is not the case. For some reason or other, which it 
is difficult to understand, the powers are almost con- 
stantly overtasked, and with consequences every way 
deplorable. Those who have mingled much in pub- 
lic life, seem never disposed to retire. And so with 
the active spirits of the commercial and monetary 
world. They become used to the excitements of the 
day, and hence unwilling, even when health and com- 
fort require, to seek a proper degree of repose. They 
forget that the mind requires quite as much care as 
the body, and although ethereal, it is delicate, and 
the least shock or irregularity may disturb its har- 
mony of motion, and snap its elastic springs. Ever 
and anon, too, they are admonished, directly or in- 
directly, by disease, by death, or by change of for- 
tune ; but all in vain. They still toil on, restless and 
impatient, eager and grasping. There are, it is true, 
many who are compelled, by the force of necessity, to 
labor constantly and incessantly. They cannot do 
otherwise, even if so disposed. A pause to them is 
indeed a period of enjoyment and delight. They 
seize upon it eagerly, and feel refreshed and strength- 
ened through its influence. But there are others 



THE OVERTASKED. 481 

again who will not pause when they could and 
should, who task their powers beyond their strength, 
and who thus, if we may so speak, tempt the myste- 
rious ways of Providence. They do not appreciate 
the blessing of health, they are not grateful for the 
advantages of fortune, and they are thus unworthy 
recipients of the benefactions of the "Giver of all 
that is good." How many are there at this moment 
who have passed beyond an advanced condition of 
life, and have accumulated an abundant independence, 
but who, nevertheless, go daily into the highways 
and byways of a thronged metropolis, become excited 
with this speculation or that, and not only agitate 
themselves unnecessarily, but risk and encounter ex- 
posures which the more careful and the more thought- 
ful, and even the younger, scrupulously avoid ! They 
have enough, but they have become morbidly anx- 
ious for a large fortune, and in grasping at the golden 
bubble, they overtask their energies, and peril even 
life itself. Ever and anon they determine to pursue 
a more cautious course, and to withdraw from the 
anxieties and vexations of the out-door world. But 
year after year goes by, impairing their faculties, 
bowing their form3, and still they are found at the 
money mart, at the stock board, or in some other ex- 
citing arena, as if some new lease of being had been 
extended, and forgetful that they compare but as one 
of a thousand of those who started together in the 
race of fortune. The others have all been called away, 
and their turn is surely at hand. Why then postpone 
the hour of reflection, the season of thought, and the 
period of repose? A little longer, and all will be 
over with them. Why not devote that little to a re- 



482 FALSE IMPRESSIONS. 

view of the past and a contemplation of the future r 
Why seek to shorten the brief period that remains, 
and by unnecessary efforts, overtask their powers, 
and discover, when too late, that they are indeed old, 
feeble, mortal, and tottering. In brief, why not, while 
mind, and health, and vigor remain, indulge in acts 
of justice, generosity, kindness, and good- will, and 
thus not only sweeten and soften the closing hours 
of this life, but brighten with hope, faith, and ex- 
pectation, the morning of that which is to come ! 



Jfalse Imgrasifltts; m, % little Enmities 
of life. ■ 



" He judged too harshly and was hence unjust." 

IT frequently happens that individuals discover, after 
years of estrangement and unkindness, that they 
have imbibed an unfriendly feeling against another, 
and have acted it out in various ways, and all because 
of some gross misrepresentation or false impression. 
In such cases the parties immediately concerned are 
at first surprised and annoyed, but they postpone the 
work of explanation from time to time, until at last 
they are reluctant to enter upon it ; and thus the bad 
feeling deepens and rankles, and the difficulty becomes 
almost irreconcilable. The evil-minded and the foul- 
tongued are, for the most part, the causes of all this 
misapprehension and ill-will. They fabricate and 
malign, and often in so subtle and artful a manner, 



FALSE IMPKESSIONS. 483 

that their calumnies are believed, and hence produce 
distrust, suspicion, coldness, and all their sad conse- 
quences. It is lamentable for such results to take 
place under any circumstances ; but when old friends 
are thus imbittered and separated, when confidence is 
impaired and hearts are lacerated, the wickedness of 
the system may be adequately appreciated. How 
often are the gentle ties that bind families together, 
thus rudely ruptured, and jealousy and envy made to 
take the places of disinterestedness and generosity! 
When once ; too, a separation commences, it is sure 
to be widened by the intermeddling and the malig- 
nant ; for then, the parties not being in communion 
together, may be slandered with comparative impu- 
nity. It is, moreover, so easy to misrepresent, to ex- 
aggerate, and to give a false coloring to what may have 
been meant merely in jest, or uttered in a moment of 
pique, that the evil-minded who delight in this species 
of scandal and malignity, are consatntly afforded op- 
portunities. Indeed, it is impossible to keep watch 
and guard upon one's conversation at all times and 
seasons ; and hence the malicious eaves-dropper or 
curious scandal- monger is readily able to catch a word 
here and there, and by perversion and misapplication, 
to distort it into an offence where nothing of the kind 
was intended. There are few individuals who have 
not been annoyed for years by some unexplained and 
incomprehensible estrangement, some coolness on the 
part of a former friend that has puzzled, perplexed, 
and annoyed. The error in all such cases consists in 
not seeking an explanation at first, and thus removing 
the false impression at the outset. It is an error, 
however, that all indulge in, more or less. A sense 
30 



484 FALSE IMPRESSIONS. 

of false pride interferes with the discharge of a posi- 
tive duty, and thus a misunderstanding, that might 
have been arranged or explained within a few 
minutes, is permitted to increase from day to day, and 
from year to year, and with consequences at once 
painful and deplorable. Little enmities are engen- 
dered which deepen to serious feuds, and the difficulty 
is, in after time, to ascertain the real origin of the 
misunderstanding. Only a short time since we heard 
a most estimable citizen express chagrin and mortifi- 
cation that an acquaintance had passed him in the 
street without speaking. He could not understand 
the reason, and was unwilling to attribute it to acci- 
dent ; but, as if to show the infirmity of poor human 
nature, he at the same time avowed a determination to 
retaliate! It is by such trifles and the exercise of such 
a spirit, that the little enmities of social life are 
created, that intimacies are disturbed, friendships are 
weakened, and society is imbittered. Many people 
will stubbornly refuse to make an explanation or an 
apology, even after being satisfied that they have 
done wrong. They thus not only commit an injus- 
tice, but they adhere to and persist in it. False im- 
pressions are of constant occurrence. They are some- 
times made by a look, at others by an incident, at 
others by a misrepresentation ; and unless explained 
and corrected, they become stronger and stronger, 
until at last they are fixed ineffaceably in the mind 
and heart. Nevertheless, the wisest, the most care- 
ful, and the most thoughtful are liable to be deceived. 
No one should adopt an opinion hastily or rashly. 
No one should turn away from a friend without being 
satisfied of the justice of such a course. No one 



FALSE IMPRESSIONS. 485 

should take for granted the representations of anether, 
especially if calculated to darken the character of an 
acquaintance, or to give a repulsive coloring to his 
reputation, disposition, and general conduct. Who, 
indeed, has not committed serious mistakes through 
the agency of false impressions ? Who has not for 
years pictured in the mind some particular individual, 
and found, on closer acquaintance, that the view was 
at once mistaken, erroneous, ungenerous, and unjust ? 
Who has not, because of some strange prejudice, held 
aloof, and absolutely avoided some member of society, 
and found at last that his was a congenial spirit, and 
that the impression that had beeD made, perhaps 
through the agency of some trifling incident or some 
heartless calumny, was every way incorrect ? A few 
years since two gentlemen of this city happened to be 
opposed to each other politically, and in the course 
of an exciting canvass, each ventured to denounce the 
opinons of the other in terms of much warmth and 
severity. The effect was to annoy and enrage, and 
thus, when they passed each other in the streets, they 
either " looked daggers," or avoided the slightest re- 
cognition. Soon after, by the merest accident, they 
were' thrown together for days, and compelled, as it 
were, to be on terms of ordinary civility. The result 
was that they discovered that they had misunderstood 
and mistaken each other; and while they frankly 
confessed the error, the effect was a bond of friend- 
ship and good- will that is likely to exist to the end 
of their days. First impressions are generally re- 
garded as of much importance ; but when based upon 
misapprehension, misrepresentation, or direct false- 
hood, and adopted thoughtlessly and hastily, they 
30 



486 THE BATTLE OF LIFE. 

should be considered as of doubtful value, and be 
submitted to the talismanic influence of truth, knowl- 
edge, and a more careful examination. The individ- 
ual who, in the first place, mistakes another, and thus 
adopts a false view of his character, commits not only 
an injustice and a wrong ; but constantly acting upon 
the error, is certain as well to mislead his own mind 
as to misdirect the judgment of others. Beware, then, 
gentle reader, beware of false impressions ! 



\t Rattle of fife. 

" The body may give out and so the mind." 

ACELEBKATED writer contends that "serenity 
of mind, together with mental discipline and 
self- correction, are absolutely essential for length of 
days." This is no doubt true in the general sense. 
The battle OF life is constantly going on. Some- 
times it is a physical struggle, and all the energies 
are tasked, with the object of securing the means of 
livelihood and independence. At others it is a men- 
tal ; and, absorbed by one idea, we become so excited 
thereby, and devoted thereto, that the strength of the 
intellect is weakened, and its springs are snapped and 
broken to pieces. The wrestles and conflicts which 
constantly take place in "the working-day world," 
not only in the walks of labor but in the marts of 
commerce, task the faculties to the utmost. Not a 
day goes by in which some one, exhausted pud 



THE BATTLE OF LIFE. 487 

broken down, is not summoned to his final account. 
He fights on manfully, until at last nature gives way, 
and Death becomes the victor. In the circles of in- 
dustry, and among the toiling millions, it is wisely 
ordered that there is comparatively little thought for 
the morrow. The present alone is cared for, and the 
future does not annoy. Thus the day-laborer rises to 
his task cheerfully in the morning, pursues it with a 
light heart throughout the day, and is happy and con- 
tented at the approach of nightfall. Let him but have 
enough to do, and physical strength to do it, and he 
is satisfied. But it often happens that it is otherwise 
— that he has neither the employment, nor the ability 
to discharge his ordinary avocations. And then the 
battle OF life commences in earnest. The future 
looms in the distance, anxiety and apprehension be- 
come the constant guests of the mind, and these pic- 
ture a thousand vicissitudes and. calamities, which un- 
nerve, stimulate, intimidate — nay, madden. The 
responsibilities of a family are then fully realized, and 
the cares of life assume a sombre and a painful hue. 
The ills of poverty are magnified a thousand fold, and 
the languid and fainting spirit not only falters and 
fails, but is disposed to yield to the gloomiest fancies 
and forebodings. Often, too, the result is fatal. In- 
stead of wrestling in a more resolute spirit than ever, 
and appealing with confidence to Divine Providence, 
the demons of despair are permitted to have their way, 
and life itself is given up with scarce a struggle. This 
is by no means the true policy. On the contrary, it 
is the false as well as the cowardly. " Hope on — hope 
ever !" should be the motto and the doctrine under all 
such circumstances, and the effort should be to strug- 



4-S8 THE BATTLE OF LIFE. 






gle through the worst, in the expectation of better and 
"brighter days. Adversity is often but the test of our 
nature. It tries us sorely, but if we persevere, the 
triumph is almost certain. And there are mental 
struggles, which often exhaust and overwhelm, even 
more speedily than physical. Not a few of the 
sons of men permit themselves to give way to un- 
necessary anxieties. They become ambitious, and if 
they cannot gratify all their desires, they grow dis- 
contented and miserable. They may be in the en- 
joyment of a thousand blessings, and yet they lack 
some one thing, and for this they will sacrifice content- 
ment, health, comfort, and even life itself. They be- 
come " seized of and possessed" of some " one idea" — 
vain, visionary, and absurd — and yet it will master, con- 
trol, subdue, and finally overwhelm them. There are, 
indeed, more diseases of the mind than the hasty ob- 
server is disposed to imagine. There are few, in fact, 
who are not more or less affected in this way. Only 
a year or two ago, a gentleman of high character in 
this city, who was surrounded with almost every com- 
fort and luxury, became impressed with a notion that 
he had been maltreated by a certain Corporation. He 
immediately determined to wage an unceasing war 
against its members, and in so doing he became deeply 
excited, so much so as to be thoroughly absorbed in 
the investigation, and to the neglect of almost every 
other pursuit. In brief, the matter soon degenerated 
into a mental malady; and thus he not only annoyed 
himself but others, and in the end materially shortened 
his days. He died suddenly, and, as many of his 
friends believed, a victim to the excitement referred 
to! But cases of this kind are by no means rare. 



THE BATTLE OF LIFE. 489 

The battle of life is a fearful one, and it requires 
all our vigilance even to wrestle with success 
against the ordinary vicissitudes to which all are 
more or less liable. When we undertake too much, 
the responsibility is great. Many an individual, lack- 
ing moral courage, has been prostrated by a single 
blow of misfortune. Others have experienced reverse 
after reverse, have struggled on again and again, and 
have finally achieved a signal success. There is 
scarcely a being, even of middle age, whose earthly 
career has not been more or less checkered by storm 
and sunshine, by adversity and prosperity. The true 
policy is to exercise as much prudence as possible, 
and yet to be prepared for a reverse. All is not lost 
while integrity remains ; and although it is too much 
the disposition of mankind to look coldly upon the 
unsuccessful and the unfortunate, yet there are many 
appreciating spirits, many who are truly generous and 
benevolent, and who may be depended on with confi- 
dence in the hour of misfortune. The struggle with 
the world is often disheartening, and requires the ex- 
ercise of all the energies of our nature — moral, mental, 
and physical. But to be true to ourselves, we must 
put forward those energies whenever necessary, and 
then, with a confident reliance upon Providence, not 
only anticipate, but deserve a better and brighter future. 
t 



,-ffibt Mai sift % Jitsraess 
MA 



' A kindly air, a gentlemanly bow, 
And all the forms of sweet civility. 



IT is an easy thing to be civil ; and although, in the 
language of the old proverb, " fine words butter no 
parsnips," they frequently, nay, almost invariably, 
have a kindly effect, and influence the mind as well as 
the heart. Nevertheless, there are certain persons who 
go through the world as if determined never to utter 
a civil phrase, never to do a civil turn. They are 
naturally rough, harsh, peevish, and dissatisfied ; and 
even when appealed to in matters of business, they 
will indulge in such a spirit and assume such an air, 
as to make the intercourse cold, formal, and repulsive. 
A sad mistake in every point of view. All of us are 
more or less dependent upon civility. It softens and 
sweetens the intercourse between man and man, — it 
breaks down barriers and impediments that would 
otherwise exist, — it appeals to the higher and more re- 
fined qualities of our nature, and it bespeaKs not 
only intelligence and polish, but clearness of head and 
goodness of heart. A man of the world, one who has 
traveled, or enjoyed the advantages of a thorough edu- 
cation, and especially a gentleman, is rarely uncivil. 
To be so, is to be rude, discourteous, and insulting. 
Nothing indeed is more agreeable, nothing more fas- 
1490) 



CIVILITY. 491 

cinating, and nothing better calculated to secure an 
easy path in life or society, whether in the social or the 
business world, than unwavering civility. It touches 
many a heart, it impresses ma^y a mind, it removes 
many an obstacle, and while it is calculated to gratify 
the thousands it can offend no one. 

The man of finished manners and elegant taste, of 
cultivated mind and gentlemanly instincts, is civil, not 
only to the millionaire, the banker, and the merchant, 
but to the mechanic and day-laborer, and even the 
beggar who knocks at his door. He respects himself, 
and hence he respects the feelings of others. He looks 
for kindness and good- will at the hands of his fellow- 
creatures, and he manifests these qualities himself. 
He may have his errors and infirmities, his prejudices 
and his passions, his follies and his excitements. But, 
at all times and occasions, his language and his man- 
ners are civil ; or if having unwittingly committed an 
offence against propriety, he is the first to apologize, 
and to make the amende honorable. A notable illus- 
tration of this fact occurred a short time since. Two 
gentlemen, intimate friends, who had engaged in an 
argument, gradually warmed and became excited, and 
in the heat of the moment both forgot the lessons and 
practices of propriety by which their conduct was gen- 
erally governed. A harsh phrase was uttered by one, 
and Replied to with equal severity by the other, until, 
for a brief time, they seemed like enemies rather than 
friends, and were about to proceed to blows. But 
both apparently recovered themselves at the same in- 
stant, immediately took back every thing unkind that 
had been uttered, apologized to each other and to all 
who were present, in a generous and gentlemanly 



492 * CIVILITY. 

strain, and thus all was well again. The system of 
civility and propriety in which they were educated, and 
to which, for years, they had been accustomed, was 
found to be far more potent than any temporary ebul- 
lition of passion, and thus its manifestation at a criti- 
cal moment was every way commendable and gratify- 
ing. The habit of incivility, if it had been indulged 
and become fixed with either of the individuals alluded 
to, would no doubt have led to the most unpleasant 
consequences. It is bad enough to meet with a rough 
and fretful spirit in the every-day affairs of life. But 
to have such a direct antagonist in an argument, and 
upon an exciting subject, is every way painful to one 
whose feelings are manly and generous, and whose 
temper is kindly and courteous. A few days since, a 
western merchant visited Philadelphia, for the purpose 
of securing a stock of very valuable goods. He had 
traveled a long distance, had suffered considerably 
from illness, and was rather rough in his appearance, 
but not so in his language or manner. He stepped 
into one of our leading houses, and saw one of the 
principals, to whom he addressed a few common-place 
questions connected with business affairs generally. 
It so happened that the other was engaged with an- 
other customer, and was, to all appearances, somewhat 
out of temper. Certain it is, that his replies were 
abrupt, indecorous, and uncivil ; so much so, that the 
western merchant, who knew and appreciated his 
position, felt annoyed and wounded, and promptly 
withdrew. He immediately crossed over the street to 
another house in the same line, and before he left, 
made purchases to the extent of twenty thousand 
dollars. The fact was soon discovered by the un- 



CIVILITY. 493 

civil dealer, that lie had offended one of the most 
influential customers to Philadelphia! Bat we need 
not multiply illustrations. They will be found daily 
and hourly in almost every walk of life. The inexpe- 
rienced, the inflated, and the pampered are too often 
among the uncivil. It frequently occurs that a worth- 
less adventurer is elevated by some extraordinary turn 
of fortune into a post of profit and honor, when, intoxi- 
cated by his new position, he forgets all his antecedents, 
and violates all the proprieties and courtesies of life. 
He thus renders himself at once an object of contempt 
and derision, and although he may play the despot 
and the boor for a short time, he is certain, sooner or 
later, to be toppled from his unsuited elevation, and 
to sink, if possible, lower than ever. Civility is not 
only one of the virtues, but it is one of the essentials 
of social and refined life. It cannot be cultivated 
too sedulously. We should, as much as possible, en- 
deavor to engraft its spirit upon the young, and thus 
render it a feature and an embellishment of character. 
The effect cannot but be salutary. If this quality be 
calculated to adorn and dignify age, what a grace and 
a polish will it impart to the ingenuousness of youth. 
It at once softens and refines, elevates and beautifies. 
Often, too, it opens the road to prosperity, and leads 
the way to conquest and power. With the sterner sex 
it has a magic and a charm, and with the gentler it is 
almost irresistible. 



%n dJgett to f ik---% f alics of 
"jSMmg to fceijjrag." 

" A purpose choose, and then pursue it well." 

IN the course of a conversation held a few days 
since, an old and experienced merchant alluded in 
highly complimentary terms to a young friend, and 
in conclusion remarked — " He possesses many noble 
qualities, but unfortunately lie will not stick to any 
thing. In other words, he is fickle, changeable, and 
unsteady. He has no fixed purpose in life. He is in 
pursuit of one object to-day and another to-morrow." 
And this is the case with hundreds. They possess 
talent, genius, tact, readiness, wit, but they lack the 
great essentials of steadiness, determination, and per- 
severance. One year they try one pursuit, and another 
another. At one time they are enthusiasts in relation 
to some particular profession or avocation ; and then, 
lo ! as sudden as thought, they change and devote all 
their energies to something else. Can it be wondered 
at, that such fickle and uncertain persons are un- 
successful? Much of the art of success consists in 
steadiness and perseverance. There are many men 
with fine talents, who could have attained eminence 
in almost any pursuit had they followed it closely, 
constantly, and earnestly. But having attempted a 
dozen undertakings, and thus divided their time and 
attention, failure was inevitable. A regular employ- 
(494) 



AN OBJECT IN LIFE. 495 

ment and steadiness of purpose are especially essential 
to the young, nay, to all who mingle with mankind. 
The men of fortune are, for the most part, those who 
became so through inheritance, or by patience, perse- 
verance, and an unwavering determination to over- 
come the ordinary difficulties of life. And hence the 
necessity of a regular trade or avocation. It, in the 
first place, induces habits of industry; and in the 
second, schools the mind and the energies; and in 
most cases directs them in a proper channel. On 
looking over the annals of our public institutions, it 
will be found that the great majority of those who go 
astray, are young men who never had any regular 
trade or occupation, and who, therefore, were without 
a direct means of livelihood and independence. Thus, 
on reference to the first Eeport of the Trustees of the 
Maine State Reform School, we perceive that of one 
hundred and seventeen received during the year, 
ninety -seven were idle or had no steady employment. 
The fact is pregnant with admonition. It illustrates 
the whole subject in the most striking manner. The 
individual, moreover, who does not acquire habits of 
industry, patience, and perseverance in early life, will 
seldom attain them thereafter. The epitaph of many 
a ruined young man, might with propriety be — " Alas ! 
he would not stick to any thing." 

Who, indeed, constitute the genteel vagabonds — 
nay, the great majority of the criminals of the day ? 
Individuals who commenced wrong, who had bad ex- 
amples before them ; who were led to believe that to 
be genteel was to be dissolute ; and who thus went on, 
step by step, until they found that character was 
lost with their means, and that they were com- 



496 AN OBJECT IN LIFE. 

pelled by necessity to resort to some dangerous expe- 
dient. It is, indeed, difficult to resist the fascinations 
of vice in a great city like this. The moral effort re- 
quired is extraordinary. Hence the danger of idleness, 
and the necessity of occupation. Hence the policy, 
the wisdom, nay, the absolute necessity of steadiness 
of purpose and regularity of employment. All who 
desire success, should "stick to something." They 
should have some object in life. If we cannot get a 
business to suit us exactly, we should decide upon the 
next best. Almost any occupation is better than none ; 
arid when we have once determined upon a course, 
let us pursue it, not only with activity, but with en- 
ergy and determination. The adage is old and famil- 
iar, that " a rolling stone gathers no moss," but it is 
pithy and to the purpose in this connection. The in- 
constant, the uncertain, the fickle, and the unsteady 
are seldom true, either to themselves or to others. 
They trifle with destiny, and destroy their own pros- 
pects. No one who knows them will enter into an 
important compact with them, because of the fear of 
change, and the dangers connected therewith. The 
illustrations may be seen in every department of 
life and society. They are of almost daily occurrence. 
Hundreds are at this moment wasting the most pre- 
cious hours of their lives in idle speculations, vague 
pursuits and uncertain employments, simply because 
they have no determination, no object, no energy or 
perseverance. There are others again, and not a few, 
who prefer doing nothing, not only for days, but for 
weeks, months, and years, rather than venture upon a 
path that does not seem exactly congenial to their 
taste. The result is, that by this system they unfit 



UNEQUAL MARRIAGES. 497 

tnemselves for all employment. They become inert 
and indolent, lose every thing like enterprise and ambi- 
tion, and unconsciously descend, step by step, in the 
social ranks of life, until at last they find themselves 
contemned, despised, and even lost to all sense of self- 
respect. We repeat — occupation, steady and regular, 
a trade, profession, or avocation, an object in life, to- 
gether with patience, perseverance, energy and deter- 
mination, — are not only absolutely essential to success, 
but rarely fail to secure it. In brief, there must be 
some purpose, some system, some determination. 
Otherwise the highest talents, the richest fancy, and 
the most dazzling intellect, will prove comparatively 
useless. In the language of the celebrated Dr. Johnson 
— " Negligence and irregularity long continued, will 
render knowledge useless, wit ridiculous, and genius 
contemptible." 



' By kindness, the wolf and the zebra become docile as the spaniel and the hone ; 
The kite feedeth with the starling, under the law of kindness : 
That law shall tame the fieroest, bring down the battlements of pride, 
Cherish the weak, control the strong, and win the fearful spirit. 
Be obeyed when thou commandest ; but command not often : 
Let thy carriage be the gentleness of love, not the stern front of tyranny." 

A BOSTON journalist, in noticing the many com- 
plaints that are uttered in relation to what are 
called " unequal marriages," says that " circumstances" 
frequently " alter cases," and make such marriages de- 
cidedly right. This is doubtless true. And yet a 



498 UNEQUAL MARRIAGES. 

great disparity of age is by no means calculated to 
assist connubial felicity, or to render home that haven 
of peace and asylum from the inquietudes of the world, 
which the ministering spirits at its sacred altars should 
endeavor to make it. Nevertheless, we can well 
imagine cases of matrimonial harmony where the 
wife is several years older than the husband; while 
within our own immediate circle of acquaintance, we 
could point out dozens of happy illustrations, in which 
the disparity is far greater on the other side, the gen- 
tleman being the senior by ten — sometimes fifteen 
years, and even more. The Boston journalist is right. 
" Circumstances alter cases." The health, the disposi- 
tion, the temper, are matters of the utmost importance. 
Some one has said that u age is not determined by 
years — that there are old maids of eighteen, and young 
maids of forty and fifty ; that there are many men of 
sixty as young as others of thirty. That spirit is 
youth, and the want of it is age." This view is, per- 
haps, rather extravagant ; but it nevertheless conveys 
the true idea. We have known men who were old — 
prematurely old — that is to say, broken down in spirit, 
dissatisfied with the world, morose in disposition, 
discontented, unhappy and uncompanionable at the 
age of forty ; while we have known others, again, who 
were full of vivacity, cheerfulness and good-nature at 
as advanced an age as sixty. These, then, are some 
of the facts and circumstances that deserve considera- 
tion when we speak of unequal marriages, and allude 
more particularly to a difference of ages. But for a 
young girl in the blush of beauty, gay of heart, ani- 
mated in disposition and fond of society, to marry one 
double her age, and one, too, repulsive by habit, person, 



UNEQUAL MARRIAGES. 49 if 

or manner, peevish and fretful, is indeed monstrous. 
Such violations of the law of nature too often spring 
from mercenary objects on the one side, delusion and 
dotage on the other, and seldom result in good. Both 
parties are compelled to live in a condition of constant 
falsehood ; to practice deceit from day to day ; or if not, 
to drag on in a life of discord and strife suited to em- 
bitter every hour of existence. Such marriages are 
sinful in the eye of Heaven. 

In many cases, too — and here a terrible responsibility 
devolves upon parents — young and inexperienced 
girls, who know little of the world, and less perhaps 
of the depth and strength of their own affections, are 
persuaded into marriages as mere matters of conve- 
nience, pride, or ambition — because the match is a 
good one — in brief, because the suitor, although 
greatly the senior, is rich. Alas ! how frightful the 
reality when, the delusion passed away, the wretched 
woman finds herself bound for life to a being she can- 
not, she never did love. When, too, as her character 
developes, and nature speaks through her affections, 
how appalling the consciousness that the refined, puri- 
fying, and elevating emotions of mutual regard cannot 
be enjoyed by her! What can compensate for so 
deplorable a mistake ? How can money weigh for a 
moment in the balance with emotion ? How wearily 
must time pass on ! And the future — it must seem 
only the more gloomy, because within its depths are 
seen the wrecks of hope, of youth, and of affection. 
But even in such cases, if the husband be true to him- 
self and to duty — if he be patient, faithful, and devoted 
— if he understand human nature and the gentle sus- 
ceptibilities of woman's heart, he may accomplish 
31 



500 UNEQUAL MARRIAGES 

much. If he cannot secure her love, he may at least 
win her esteem and respect, and soften and brighten 
the path before her. It is rare, indeed, that the gentle 
nature of the milder sex cannot be subdued and mel- 
lowed by kindness, attention, and assiduity. A watch- 
fulness as to the wants and tastes, and a prompt com- 
pliance with the wishes of the fair one, will in most 
cases accomplish much. There are few natures, in- 
deed, able to resist steady kindness, unremitting atten- 
tion, persevering manifestations of regard. Thus, 
then, when two find themselves wedded for better or 
worse, whose ages differ widely — when they realize 
the painful truth that their tastes are not congenial — 
that they took the serious step under a false impression, 
were misled or deluded — the husband, if the senior, as 
is generally the case, may still greatly repair the error 
by a determination to win, even after marriage, what 
he supposed he had conquered before. The heart 
must be hard indeed, that will not yield to the un- 
tiring tenderness and attentions of another, especially 
when the agency of these qualities is assisted by the 
requirements of duty. 

Of the thousands of marriages which take place 
from year to year, there are doubtless a large number 
which have their origin in other feelings and objects 
than those connected with reciprocity of tastes and 
affection. In some cases the courtship is too brief; 
in others the game of deceit is played so successfully 
on both sides, that the real characters of the parties 
are only discovered after the knot is tied. In others 
again, the gentle and yielding lover is soon converted 
into a harsh and tyrant husband — or the angel maid 
into a violent, termagant wife. But these are errors 



A LITTLE CONSIDERATION. 50.1 

and disappointments which may be measurably cor 
rected, if the parties will only take themselves to task 
calmly and quietly, determined to bear and forbear, 
and resolved to realize, as far as possible, in the mar- 
ried state, the beings they personated with success 
during their days of courtship. Even the in- 
equalities of age will be forgotten, in some measure at 
least, before kindness, cheerfulness, and attention ; for 
as already argued, there are few hearts that will not 
yield to devotion, to tenderness, good-nature and un- 
wavering affection. At least the policy is worth the 
trial ; and therefore we commend it heartily to all who 
have married in haste, or who have failed to realize in 
the sober second thought of wedded life, the sunny 
dream of their halcyon days of courtship. 

" It is not much the world can give, 

With all its subtle art, 
And gold or gems are not the things 

To satisfy the heart ; 
But, oh, if those who cluster round 

The altar and the hearth 
Have gentle words and loving smiles, 

How baautiful is earth." 



% little Consiberatkt. 



"Consideration like an angel came." 

THEEE are few persons, who have had any expe- 
rience in life, who cannot, on reviewing the past, 
point to occasions when a little consideration 

would have saved them much anxiety. The difficulty, 
31 



502 A LITTLE CONSIDERATION. 

however, is to keep cool, to avoid mental excitement, 
and to exercise a generous spirit toward the infirmities 
of others. All have errors and frailties to some extent, 
and all are affected more or less by education, by 
habit, by health, or by circumstances. If, therefore, 
we make up a hasty judgment without reflection or 
consideration — if we speak first and then think after- 
ward, the chances are fifty to one, that we will com- 
mit serious mistakes, and inflict unneccessary pain. 
There is scarcely a condition of life, a profession or an 
occupation, in which a little consideration may not be 
exhibited with advantage. And this language will 
apply not only at home, in the domestic circle, but 
abroad and in the out-door world, — not only with 
parents, guardians, and teachers, but with employers, 
and all in authority. 

Man is too apt to play the tyrant, when elevated to 
a position of power. He is too disposed to forget his 
antecedents, to lose sight of his own early career and 
struggles, and to view with a harsh and unjust judg- 
ment all who either from inability or any other cause, 
do not immediately respond to his opinions and carry 
out his wishes. He has no consideration for the er- 
rors and infirmities of human nature; but hasty, im- 
petuous, and despotic, he is often rash, ungenerous and 
cruel. There is a class of individuals who lack con- 
sideration in an eminent degree. We allude to the 
bores, the idlers, and the hangers-on, who either un- 
willing to labor themselves, or unable to obtain em- 
ployment, have no thought for the condition of others, 
but intrude upon them at all times and seasons, vol- 
unteer their opinions unasked, introduce improper 
subjects of conversation, and absolutely attempt to 



A LITTLE CONSJDEKATIOST. 503 

dictate in matters of business. They have no thought, 
no reflection, and hence no consideration. They thus 
not only lack common sense, but ordinary propriety. 
At moments that are critical and important to others, 
they will offer some light remark, or indulge in some 
silly speculation, forgetful of courtesy and dignity, 
and in violation of good breeding. 

How many homes have been made miserable for 
the want of a little consideration? How many hus- 
bands and wives, who might have been contented and 
happy, have been estranged and made wretched? 
How many fathers have destroyed the confidence, and 
lost the affections of their children ? Nay, scarcely a 
day goes by in which a want of consideration is not seen. 
The would-be gentleman, who fancies that the acme 
of human felicity is to drive a fast horse, seldom thinks 
of the condition of the poor beast. So, too, in the 
humbler ranks, with the drayman and the cabman. 
There are, it is true, exceptions, but in the great mul- 
titude of cases, the exertion and suffering of the ani- 
mal are not for a moment taken into consideration, 
especially if some mercenary object can be accom- 
plished. The employer, too, who overtasks his work- 
men, or the lady-housekeeper who exacts too much 
from her domestic, the schoolmaster who asks impos- 
sibilities from his pupil — all lose sight of the great 
virtue of consideration. Our general idea is, that in 
seeking the accomplishment of some selfish object, we 
should not forget or disregard the condition, the ca- 
pacity, and the circumstances of others. We should 
appreciate their opportunities and antecedents, and at 
once exercise a liberal and forbearing judgment 
All are not endowed with like faculties, and all have 



504 A LITTLE CONSUMMATION. 

not enjoyed the same advantages. What, therefore, 
may be easy to one, may be difficult to another. There 
are few, moreover, who have not peculiar foibles, in- 
firmities, and prejudices. These have grown day by 
day, until they have become features of character, 
identified as it were, and intermingled with the moral, 
social, intellectual, and physical nature. Surely then 
some allowance should be made— some consideration 
should be exercised. We should at least deal gently 
with these defects and errors, and manifest a little 
thought and feeling. There are few who do not re- 
quire a like forbearance and magnanimity in relation 
to themselves. We repeat — nothing human is perfect ; 
and we are wonderfully apt to magnify the vanities, 
the excesses, the errors and the vices of our neighbors 
and our friends, while we, at the same time, are blind 
to our own infirmities. Nay, we fancy that while all 
is distinct and palpable in others, our own little vices 
are wholly concealed. A sad mistake, and one that is 
apt not only to mislead, but to involve us in diffi- 
culties. The better, the wiser, the more magnanimous 
policy, is to recognize the truth that we are defective 
ourselves, that we have weaknesses and frailties — 
that human nature, even in its highest condition, is full 
of selfishness, and that hence it is but fair and right 
to exercise A little consideration with regard to 
the short-comings of others. 



% iesatg of Cnt% 

" Truth, ever lovely since the world began, 
The foe of tyrants — and the friend of man ; 
Or high or low, or rich or poor, we call, 
The good of each rests in the good of all." 

WE fear that a large portion of tlie rising genera- 
tion do not attach sufficient importance to 
truth and its influence upon character. They indulge 
in all sorts of extravagant misrepresentations; and 
when these are discovered, they endeavor to laugh 
them off as mere matters of jest, in other words, they 
mistake falsehood for wit; and thus not only injure 
others, but mislead themselves. The infirmity is one 
that has been alluded to again and again, but it can- 
not be denounced too earnestly or too frequently. 
Truth is one of the brightest and purest of the moral 
jewels of our nature. It not only illustrates, but it 
adorns and dignifies. It is indeed invaluable in almost 
every aspect in which it may be considered. The true 
man, one whose word may always be relied upon, is 
deservedly esteemed and respected by all who know 
him, and the weight of his opinion cannot but exercise 
a high moral influence in every intelligent circle. It 
has been well and wisely contended, that " truth lies 
at the very foundation of the really virtuous character." 
It is the keystone of the arch. It inspires confidence ; 
and in its absence, every other element of purity is de- 
prived of a portion of its beauty and its strength. No 

(505) 



503 THE BEAUTY OF TRUTH. 

truly great or good man ever lived, in whom this trait 
was not prominent. 

Truth is the brightest jewel in the young man's 
crown. He that is unwilling to prevaricate, to mis- 
represent, to garble, to pervert — he that scorns to de- 
ceive, and with a modest frankness and a manly 
firmness always speaks the simple truth, commends 
himself at once to the respect' and admiration of the 
truly wise and virtuous. An individual may be a 
perfect novice in business, may not possess brilliant 
talents, may be awkward in person and unpolished in 
manners, but let it be known that he is a truthful 
man, that there is no deception, no falsehood about 
him, that he comes directly to the mark in all he says, 
and that his word is never to be doubted, and he will 
have a sure passport to the confidence of the commu- 
nity. And he who can command confidence, can also 
command success. On the other hand, let an individ- 
ual be attractive in person, accomplished in manners, 
marked by energy, enterprise, talent, and tact ; but let 
him, at the same time, be addicted to falsehood, and 
the effect will be to create distrust, excite suspicion, 
to destroy hopes, and to impair prospects. The 
young, who are about to enter into the active pursuits 
of the world, and thus to carve out for themselves 
character as well as fortune, should remember these 
p acts. They should avoid, as something calculated to 
curse them throughout life, a habit of misrepresenta- 
tion, exaggeration, and falsehood. Even in jest the truth 
should be adhered to ; but, alas ! how often is it other- 
wise ! How many persons indulge, day after day, in 
the silly practice of uttering falsehood, half in jest and 
half in earnest, and of thus perplexing, misleading, and 



THE BEAUTY OF TRUTH. 507 

confusing individuals who are conscientious and man 
ly, and who cannot understand the wit of lying. 

It is a sad mistake in the young, as well as the old, 
to concoct scandal, circulate misrepresentation, and 
utter untruth, in the silly notion that such a policy is 
smart. It is, on the contrary, not only weak but 
vicious. The effect, too, is to excite a general distrust, 
and thus, even when the truth is uttered, the listener 
remembers the authority, and seeks for corroboration 
in some other quarter. The old fable of the Boy and 
the Wolf is familiar, and is as full of meaning as of 
moral. The wisest are liable to be deceived once or 
twice by a plausible falsehood, but thereafter, they are 
not only apt to manifest caution, but to exhibit incre- 
dulity and scorn. How priceless is truth in the 
family circle — among parents and children, relatives 
and friends ? We could pardon almost any offence 
in the young, except the habit of deceiving and falsi- 
fying. With such a habit it is impossible to imagine 
what has taken place. Unpleasant discoveries are con- 
stantly occurring, and we are made to live in a state of 
continual anxiety and apprehension. 

We remember that some years since, a young lady 
and gentleman of a neighboring city became extremely 
intimate, and after paying various attentions, the latter 
made an offer of his hand and heart. He was ques- 
tioned as to his former history by the guardian of the 
lady, and especially in relation to a particular cir- 
cumstance. Instead of stating the facts as they were, 
and there was nothing particularly serious in the 
matter, he was prompted by his evil genius of the 
hour to make a deliberate misrepresentation. Within 
the same week the falsity of his story was discovered, 



508 THE BEAUTY OF TRUTH. 

and the effect was to dismiss him at once from the 
confidence and esteem as well of the lady as her friends. 
They could not rely on one who, at such a moment, 
and under such circumstances, would so strangely at- 
tempt to deceive ! And still more recently an individ- 
ual who, in a moment of necessity and temptation, 
had committed an offence, called upon a gentleman of 
this city for asistance. The latter had an indistinct- 
recollection of the facts of the case and in the kindest 
spirit named the circumstances, and asked if he, the 
applicant, was the party implicated. The reply was 
in the negative. He denied the story from first to 
last, and fixed it upon another. Soon after, however, 
a sense of conscience and of right prevailed ; he came 
forward, admitted all the facts, and said that a feeling 
of shame had induced him for a moment to violate 
a holy principle. This was the more to be regretted, 
for had he uttered the truth at first, the effect would 
not have been injurious to him in the slightest degree, 
for in fact he was known to be the man. Still his 
prompt admission and regretful explanation had the 
effect of restoring the confidence which otherwise must 
have been materially weakened, if not wholly de- 
stroyed. But the intelligent and observing reader 
iloes not require illustrations. He must know that 
without truth there can be no confidence, no trust, no 
iidelity, and little happiness. What, too, can be more 
terrible — what more base — than by a series of false 
statements, hollow professions, and artful acts, to win 
the esteem, the respect, and the love of a fellow-being, 
and then, by tearing the mask away, reveal the mon- 
sters of Deceit and Falsehood in all their deformity ! 

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